Reentry
by BensonKnowsBest
Summary: Sergeant Olivia Benson is settling into her role as mother and commanding officer when an unexpected development in a case unearths an unsettled part of her past. She's not the same as she used to be. And neither is he.
1. Chapter 1

**_Inspirational Lyrics from Thrown Down by Stevie Nicks_**

 _He fell for her again, she watched it happen_  
 _Every day - day by day_  
 _But more important - night by night_  
 _She watched it all come into play_  
 _He held her hands, she listened to what he had to say_

 _Thrown down ... like a barricade_  
 _Maybe now he could prove to her_  
 _That he could be good for her_  
 _And they should be together_

 _You've shaken your faith in me, no_  
 _You've shaken my faith in everything else_  
 _A decision no one makes, and now you're going home_  
 _Faith is a hard thing to hold on to_  
 _Something inside you says I don't have to_  
 _You're not like other people, you do what you want to_  
 _You're not like other people, you do what you want to_

 _Thrown down ... like a barricade_  
 _Maybe now he could prove to her_  
 _That he could be good for her_  
 _And they should be together_

 _You say you're sorry..._  
 _Now you should walk away_  
 _But it's so overwhelming,_  
 _You have nothing left to say_  
 _You can sit outside his door and wait_  
 _Well, you can dedicate your pain to him_

 _Oh, thrown down ... like a barricade_  
 _Maybe now he could prove to her_  
 _That he could be good for her_  
 _And they should be together_  
 _About just how much he never really told her..._  
 _About how difficult it had been to be without her..._

* * *

Sergeant Olivia Benson stifled back a yawn then returned pen to paper from behind the desk of her office at Manhattan's Special Victims Unit. Truth be told, she'd never been happier, but she'd also never been more tired.

Noah was finally hers. A lifelong yearning to become a parent and tenuous year as the toddler's foster mother had taken their toll on the sage sergeant who'd been put in charge of a child's life and an entire investigative unit in recent months. Her days were busier and her nights less restful as a result. Each day with the baby meant navigating new territory, but she knew her way around the 1-6 very well.

The ringing of her desk phone startled her slightly. "Benson," she offered into the receiver. She listened carefully as the caller offered details that she quickly scribbled onto a notepad beside her. "Okay, we're on our way," she said, ending the call.

She rose from behind her desk and walked with determination into the adjoining squad room that was occupied by very few familiar faces these days. The last few years had brought immense change to SVU and to Olivia's life. She'd lost Donald Cragen, her longtime captain and mentor, to retirement. John Munch, her beloved and quirky colleague, had also put in his papers. But most trying was the loss of two partners, one a dear friend and one … well, it was difficult to put into words what he was.

"Carisi, Fin," she barked over the clicking of keyboards and the bustle of support staff moving about the room, "get over to PS29. We have a sixth grader making an outcry about inappropriate contact with a teacher. The principal is waiting on you."

Senior detective Odafin Tutuola simply nodded and rose from his chair. The younger Sonny Carisi offered up, "On it, Sarge," with the enthusiasm and near nerdiness of a less jaded detective.

Before pacing back to her office, Benson turned her attention to her female comrade in the unit, Amanda Rollins. It amazed Olivia that the troubled Georgia peach who'd arrived just four years ago was now one of the elder statesmen in the squad. "Rollins, you're good for court?"

"About to head out now," Rollins said, pushing back from her desk.

Benson merely nodded and returned to her office. As painful as the outcry from the young victim would be, Olivia was relieved to know that her detectives weren't headed out to hover over a body. So she never expected what the day would bring.

* * *

When Fin and Carisi returned from the school a few hours later they came directly to her office to run the case for her. There was no doubt based on their initial interviews that this was a legitimate SVU case. Eleven-year-old Zachary Scott had reported to his guidance counselor and reluctantly repeated to the detectives that an adult inside the school had touched him on more than one occasion. He had admitted that it happened but he wasn't yet willing to identify his abuser. The detectives had recommended that the boy's parents take him to the hospital for a thorough exam.

While she made her way to the hospital to further interview the boy and his parents, Olivia advised her team to dig up any security footage they could find from the school that might help them track the boy's movements as well as his interactions with any adults. Experience told Fin that he'd have to cut through some red tape with the district to get the tapes quickly, so he wasted no time in getting assistant district attorney Rafael Barba to draw up a warrant just in case.

Fin knocked with two knuckles on Olivia's office door later that afternoon. She glanced up from her computer, pulled off her glasses and gave him her attention. "What's up, Fin?"

"Got a minute?"

"Sure," she said, motioning to the chair facing her desk. "Close the door."

Fin settled into the seat across from her and propped his iPad up so she could see it. "We have the security footage from the school. You're gonna wanna see this." She nodded, trusting that if Fin thought it was worth her time, she'd give it.

Fin tapped the screen, setting the video in motion. "Keep your eye on the reception window," he directed. She watched a moment before her expression dropped and her mouth fell open when the grainy image of a sturdy middle-aged man moved across the screen. He looked to be wearing dark clothing and engaging in comfortable conversation with the school's receptionist. He had a way of looking like he belonged.

Olivia sat back in her chair and pushed her hands through her hair while she searched for something, _anything_ to say. It was as if she'd seen a ghost. She was filled immediately with a rush of emotion, a heady cocktail of anxiety, nostalgia and anger. It had hit her like a gut punch, and she was momentarily breathless and speechless as she suddenly became very aware of her heart thudding in her chest.

Fin waited her out, her reaction not a surprise to him. It's why he'd wanted to show her in private. "At least we know he's still alive," he offered, searching for some sliver of consolation in the emotion of the moment.

Finally Olivia gathered herself, planted her elbows on her desk and leaned in toward the detective she likened as her strong second in the unit. "What's his connection?"

"From what I can tell he's working private security there. His kid goes to the school."

Olivia was blown away by the image on the iPad and by the very thought that Eli Stabler was suddenly of school age. He'd been frozen in time in her mind, a toddler with blond ringlets and his father's eyes. It also made no sense to her that the youngest Stabler would attend a Brooklyn elementary school when, last she knew, he lived in Queens.

"PS29 isn't anywhere near Queens," she offered to Fin.

"Not sure what's up with that," he acknowledged. "But I'll find out."

Olivia was silent again. Fin let her mind wander and patiently waited for her decision. Finally she made it. "Get him in here. Keep it low key."

Fin tucked his iPad to his hip and stood to leave her office. Before he reached the door he turned back to question her. "You alright, Liv?"

She inhaled deeply, slowly. "Ask me that _after_ you bring him in."

Fin shut the door behind him, instinctively knowing that his sergeant would need a few minutes to herself. And he was right. Olivia stayed seated at her desk and stared into space. Her mind wandered across more than 16 years since she'd walked into the 1-6 and Stabler had walked into her life. She'd changed since she'd met him and she'd changed since he left. But the woman in between still harbored a confusing collection of emotions for the man. She thought she'd put them behind her, buried them deeply enough in the closet of her life that she wouldn't be seeing them anytime soon. But one look at his face on a grainy security tape had unearthed the past just when she was beginning to get a very firm grasp on her future.

* * *

Fin rounded the corner in the lobby at PS29 and entered the school office. Off to the right, on a wooden bench likely reserved for students called to see the principal, sat the sturdy figure he'd last seen amidst the bloodbath that had left Jenna Fox, Sister Peg and an unsavory threesome of skels dead in the squadroom.

The two men locked eyes but said nothing. Fin nodded his head, indicating for Elliot Stabler to follow him out of the office. The words they needed to exchange wouldn't be welcome in the confines of a school. Stabler rose, rubbing his palms down the thighs of his jeans and following his former squad mate through the school's double doors and into the parking lot.

The glass doors had barely shut behind them when Fin spoke. "Stabler, you son of a bitch."

"Nice to see you too, Fin," Elliot offered.

"I shoulda known your dumb ass would be mixed up in all of this."

Although he hadn't seen his former colleague in nearly five years and they'd never been kissing cousins, Stabler was surprised at how quickly the name calling had begun. "Dumbass?"

"Yeah," Fin barked. "Anyone who walks away from the best thing he ever had is a dumbass in my book."

Stabler had indeed walked away from more than 20 years on the force and the potential for promotion when he left the 1-6 nearly five years ago after a squadroom shoot out. But he knew damn well that wasn't what Fin meant.

Stabler swallowed thickly. "How is she?"

"Ask her yourself. You're coming in with me."

* * *

Fin tossed his jacket on his desk chair and moved to stick his head into his sergeant's office. He'd managed to get a few steps ahead of Stabler downstairs, where a few scattered folks stopped to make small talk with him. He didn't say a word to Olivia. A simple nod to her was enough. She knew it was crunch time.

Olivia didn't speak. She gave Fin a nod of gratitude for the information, for the fair warning. She rose from behind her desk and perched herself just outside her open office door. She waited with her stomach in her throat, her gut twisted into knots and her fists firmly planted in her pants pockets. He appeared in the squad room at just that moment. The place looked different but he looked the same. Of course she didn't, _couldn't_ let her eyes linger long.

He stalled among the desks, looking around briefly until he saw her. She titled her head slightly toward her office door. It was the most subtle of signals, the slightest of invitations. But he needed none. He'd been making a beeline anyway. He dropped his eyes immediately and started towards her, avoiding eye contact with all the bustling faces he didn't recognize and the one he could never forget.

His final steps as he drew close were tentative, like a scared teenager tiptoeing into the next room of a haunted house. He paused briefly, never making eye contact, before he brushed past her, careful not to touch her as he entered her office. He settled into a chair and stared straight ahead at the empty desk before him. While he waited for whatever would happen next, he catalogued her space. Her dark-framed glasses perched next to her laptop, the framed photos of her promotion ceremony, and the cherubic face of a baby boy he didn't recognize. He wanted to ask but he knew he was no longer privileged to her personal life.

She watched him sit, took a deep breath, then motioned to Fin who was at her side within seconds. "I don't care what it is or who calls," she whispered. "Handle it."

Fin simply nodded again. He knew far too much of their history to need an explanation. He would allow no interruptions to a conversation - or a confrontation - five years in the making.

She backed into her office and closed the door. She moved behind him and pulled the slatted blinds shut then took up post at the front edge of her desk. Even though she was half seated on the corner of the desk, she hovered over him, and he felt the weight of her piercing gaze.

She took a minute to take him in. He looked much the same but - like her - had a few more lines in his face. He was gray around the temples and his closely-cropped hair was receding just a bit more than the last time she saw him. He was still full-chested but managed to appear small in their current proximity. She'd taken time for her perusal of him and to slow her heartbeat. Yet it continued to thump in her ears, banging out a cadence fueled with regret and resentment. All she wanted to feel in this moment was anger. But there was something else still pulsing underneath and threatening to shatter her game face. She silently chided herself for thinking it, feeling it.

She didn't speak. She challenged him with her silence, clearly tossing the ball onto his side of the court. It was a strange standoff considering that every other time they'd been in this office they'd had each other's backs to a fault. Yet here they were, the chasm between them seemingly insurmountable after twelve years of Semper Fi and five years of silence. The quiet seemed to drag on forever but only a moment or two had actually passed before he ran his palms down the thighs of his black jeans and mustered the courage to speak.

"The office ... the desk ... they suit you."

No matter how long she had to wait she wanted him to speak first. It was in a way her first attempt at punishing him for his hasty exit from their partnership, their friendship, their fucked-up unrequited love affair. She really didn't have to think about her strategy to have him twisting in the wind as the chip on her shoulder had already offered him the rope he could use to hang himself or to hoist himself back up onto the ledge.

After waiting him out she found herself sharply disappointed by his offering. She let his simple yet shockingly meaningless words hang between them for a minute until she couldn't mask her disdain. She snickered, tossing her head back with a smirk and throwing her eyes toward the ceiling before refocusing her gaze on him.

"That's _it_ ," she scoffed, thrusting her hands upward until they slapped back down to her thighs. " _That's_ what you went with? In the all the times you've imagined this moment - and don't bullshit me because I know you've imagined it - _that's_ the line you went with?"

He'd gone with something safe to break the ice, hoping that his vague congratulations on her promotion would be a harmless enough topic to divert her away from the angry questions he was sure she wanted answered. He'd also opened his mouth simply to put an end to the silent standoff. But he knew that no matter what he said it wouldn't be enough. He was ready for this fight or at least to crawl back into the ring each time she tossed him over the ropes.

He lowered his eyes to his hands crossed in his lap, needing to look away from her for even a moment. When he looked up again he didn't speak immediately. He considered her sarcasm as he took a visual survey of the woman who'd walked beside him for more than a decade and had lived only in his head since he threw it all away. She'd put on a few pounds in all the right places, let her hair return to its natural chestnut, and replaced the insecurities he knew so well with something he couldn't place. She was as gorgeous as the day he left. But she was different.

Finally he raised his wandering eyes back to hers and uttered his reply. "How did _you_ imagine it?"

Interesting tactic, she thought. Answering her question with one of his own. Perhaps he thought she didn't have an answer. But indeed she did because as much as she hated herself for it, she'd imagined it too.

"Oh I have a few versions," she said piercing her lips and shaking her head in sarcastic disbelief. She pushed her hands into her pockets and paced around behind her desk.

He was quiet, his eyes examining her and daring her to continue. She wasn't one to back down from a dare so she pressed on, stammering out her manifesto.

"In one, I find out something terrible happened to you," she offered. "Not terrible enough to kill you but bad enough to explain where the fuck you've been for five years."

He broke her gaze momentarily, shame dragging his eyes to the floor. He let the thick tension hang over the room a minute before he raised his eyes again. It was as if she was waiting him out, demanding his eye contact. She didn't speak until his eyes met hers again.

"Of course, there's another version where I can't control my anger, my hurt, and I unload on you."

"I never meant to hurt you, Olivia."

She raised her palm to him in silent protest. She didn't want to be patronized and she wasn't done, dammit.

"And then there's a completely different version," she said, dropping her own eyes to the floor for fear he might be able to somehow see the thought in her head. "But you don't deserve _that one_."

Elliot had learned over the past five years that he was a very weak man walking around in a strong body. And he hadn't felt this weak since the very moment he'd leaned down to check Jenna Fox for a pulse after he'd shot her. As angry as he was at the circumstances - that this moment with Olivia was forced upon both of them by outside forces - he knew he'd had every opportunity to make this moment himself. But the weak son of a bitch that he was couldn't live up to any of the ways that he'd imagined it. She'd counted off three versions, but he had more. And in this moment he couldn't reach into any one of them for a lifeline. So he did something a weak man would do. He put it back on her.

"What would have been _your_ opening line?"

She was damn near furious now. "Oh no. Stage is all yours. Take all the time you need," she barked at him. "I'll wait. Christ Elliot, I've gotten pretty good at it."

She said she'd wait and she would. But the silence was deafening, and she couldn't resist poking the beast a little more. She pulled her phone from her back pocket and swiped the screen to life. She thumbed through her contact list and tapped the number she chose. Then she waited, not even bringing the phone to her ear. It took about 10 seconds before they both heard it. The muffled sound of a cell phone ringing ripped a hole through the tension between them. As as he heard it, _felt it_ , he closed his eyes in defeat. Her attitude was nearly a third person in the room with them then. "Same number. Phone works. Imagine that."

He smirked then. He was proud of her. She'd always been passionate. And here she was reading him the riot act with every bit of fire he'd seen her launch at pedophiles and rapists. She was so damn ready for a fight so he did the only thing he thought might work in the moment. He rose from the chair and started toward her. She turned and squared her shoulders to him, almost daring him to keep coming. This thing between them was worth the beating she was dishing out, so he pushed through the five treacherous steps until he reached her. He put his arms around her then and pulled her reluctant body against him. Then he spoke quietly into her ear.

"I guess I should have started with 'I'm sorry.'"


	2. Chapter 2

_Damn him._

Damn him for touching her, for holding her, for apologizing. How was she supposed to maintain her belligerence with him while he was invading her personal space?

He'd only ever held her like this twice before. Once on an impulse after she'd saved the life of his wife and newborn son. And once with more desperation and reluctance to let go after the death of a colleague. Both times she had welcomed his embrace.

In reality, now was no different. She wanted nothing more than for him to hold her. She didn't really _need_ him anymore, but she wanted him near, wanted him in her life, just plain _wanted_ him. But the bastard had broken her heart and here he was fighting dirty.

She urged herself to continue her refusal, not to embrace him back. But she didn't push him away either. Finally, and with great trepidation, she wrapped her fingers around his biceps and gently pulled back from him. She looked up at him as she continued to hold onto his arms. Even through his jacket she could feel their strength.

"Well I guess that's a start," she said.

He could feel the tightness in his chest start to dissipate as soon as she accepted his apology. He was far from back in her good graces, but at least he had the tip of one toe in the door.

"But right now we need to talk about this case," she added, shifting back to business.

He reluctantly released her, just as he had in the church basement following the death of Sonya Paxton. He was afraid to let her out of his grasp for fear he'd never hold her again. But when she motioned for him to sit back down, he had to let her go.

She walked back around her desk and sat down. "What are you doing in that school?"

He cleared his throat, drew a long breath and put his game face back on. "I work part-time security there. Make sure the parents follow the dropoff rules, check backpacks, hardcore stuff like that," he quipped. "It keeps me busy."

"What do you know about this boy?"

"Zach Scott? He's pretty straight-laced, never had any trouble with him. He's a quiet kid."

"Do you believe his story?"

"Do you?"

Olivia rolled her eyes slightly at his annoying little habit of tossing her own questions back at her. "I think _something_ happened to him, but I'm not sure what. I was hoping you could shed some light."

"Today is the first I heard of this," he said. "You know I would have reported this had we seen any signs."

"I'm not blaming you, Elliot."

"I never said you were."

The man was infuriating. That hadn't changed. But she refused to take his bait. Instead, she paused a moment and ran her hands through her long brown tresses before starting again.

"Who do you like for it?"

"I've been racking my brain about that all morning," Elliot said. "Honestly, no one sticks out. The school has the normal mix of teachers who tow the line and a few who like to bend the rules. But I doubt it's a classroom teacher. Start with support staff, the speech teacher, people like that."

"You can grease the wheels?"

"You know me, Liv," he smiled. "I'm as charming as ever."

She let the corners of her mouth curl slightly at his comment, but really she was stuck on the fact that he'd called her Liv for the first time in five years. It was a familiarity that she'd missed.

"I _do_ know you, and that's what worries me."

He didn't press for her to elaborate or spend much time pondering the meaning behind her words. He was more concerned with creating some sort of next encounter with her. He'd quit her cold turkey years ago, but now that he'd had a fix, he was hooked all over again.

"How about I call you tomorrow morning and set up a time to talk to a few folks I think are worth looking at?"

"Elliot, you don't work here anymore," she said firmly. "You can't be part of these interviews. In fact, we have to rule _you_ out."

"Seriously, Liv?"

"You know the drill."

"At least let me run point for you."

She sat back in her desk chair and considered him. How easy it might be to fall back into stride with him. But he wasn't her partner anymore. He wasn't even a cop anymore. She had to build boundaries to separate this Elliot from the one she used to know.

"I'd prefer that you just have the principal contact Detective Carisi for followup."

" _Carisi?_ " He said it as if the word tasted terrible coming off of his tongue.

"He's a good cop."

"Liv …"

She raised her palm again to silence him, then spoke firmly. "This is how it's gonna work. End of story."

She rose then from behind her desk and opened her office door. "Carisi, can you please take Mr. Stabler's statement?"

Elliot was stunned. She was dismissing him from her office and, he feared, from her life. As Carisi's lanky form approached, she turned back to Elliot, who stood and approached the doorway as slowly as possible. Anything to prolong being in her presence again.

"I trust you can see yourself out afterwards," she said, avoiding eye contact.

He stopped at her side and slipped his hands into the front pockets of his jeans to help repress the urge to touch her. With seconds running out he had to say something. "Can I call you?"

She was cold, downright cold with her response. "If we need anything else, we'll call you. We have the number."

Then just as Carisi arrived in the doorway, she quickly turned away and walked back to her desk. Elliot dropped his eyes to the floor as he followed the young detective to an interview room. He turned briefly to glance back at her doorway, but she wasn't there. What he didn't know was that she'd turned away from him so he wouldn't see the single tear threatening to run down her cheek and blow her cover.

* * *

The end of the day, this day, couldn't come quickly enough for Olivia. She always looked forward to dropping the weight of the day at her doorstep and stealing inside to scoop up Noah. He'd reach out for her with his pudgy little fingers and, if she got home at a decent hour, most of his dinner still stuck to his cheeks.

Tonight she only briefly conversed with Lucy, her babysitter, before lifting Noah out of his high chair and kissing the applesauce off his face. She'd saved him from a life in foster care, but he was saving her a little more each day. She so treasured their evenings together on the living room floor and the light in his eyes as he learned through everything he did. She was addicted to the hearty belly laugh he'd expel each time he knocked over the tower of soft blocks they'd build together. And nothing was more peaceful than snuggling with him to read a bedtime story, his pudgy fingers pawing at each page until sleep consumed him. After today, she was about ready to crawl into the crib with him, but footsteps in the hallway and a subsequent knock on her apartment door meant her night wasn't over.

She quietly closed Noah's bedroom door and padded through the living room to look through the peep hole. The old Olivia would have swung the door open without a care. But this Olivia, the one who'd spent four days in hell and now had a child to protect, was much more cautious. As soon as she saw him through the peephole, she expelled a deep breath and let her forehead fall against the door. She didn't have it in her to fight with him tonight.

"C'mon Liv, I know you're in there," his muffled voice offered from outside the door.

Reluctantly, she grasped the doorknob and, as if the door itself was made of solid concrete, mustered every ounce of strength she had to open it part way and eye him. A thousand memories replayed in her head of him standing there just like this on the doorstep of her old apartment. But that was then and this was now. He'd forfeited his right to automatic admission.

"Funny how I can't seem to get rid of you all of a sudden," she said sarcastically.

He hoped like hell she'd meant it playfully. But he couldn't leave it to chance. If he stood any chance of getting back into her life, he had to get inside her apartment. So he said it. "Did you ever think I stayed away for a reason?"

She'd certainly spent enough time in recent years speculating on his motives, so the very prospect of hearing a reason - _any reason_ \- after all this time was enough to make her step aside and allow him enough room to pass by and enter.

He moved tentatively, studying her new surroundings. This place was bigger and brighter and the photos of them together that used to take up space on an end table in her old apartment seemed to have no home here. They'd been replaced with candid shots of the baby boy he'd only just learned she had. The one Fin told him was named Noah when he gave him her new address. He managed so many thoughts in the mere moments it took her to shut the door behind him, slip her fingers into the front pockets of her jeans and watch him take in the pieces of her new life. The one she'd made without him, in spite of him.

"Good looking boy," he said picking up a framed photo of Noah. "He's what ... 14-15 months?"

"Fifteen months next week," she confirmed.

He did the math in his head. Fifteen months plus nine more. Two years. Two years ago she'd let someone into her bed, into her body. If he'd shown up then - at the time that he and Kathy had finally called it quits - it might have been him.

"You raising him alone? His ... uh ... his fath ..."

"I didn't give birth to him, Elliot. He was my foster son. I just adopted him."

Elliot still didn't turn to her. He didn't want her to see the relief on his face. Relief that she hadn't made that kind of commitment with another man.

"I know you've always wanted that, Liv," he said, placing the frame back on the shelf. "You deserve it."

She wasn't interested in his pleasantries or in rehashing conversations they'd shared years ago. She couldn't take it. "Look, I don't want to wake him. It's been a long day, so what do you want?"

 _You._ But he couldn't say that. Yet.

He turned around now and tried to find the words - the right words - to keep the conversation going, to keep her from sending him on his way. He longed for the days when words between them came naturally and didn't need to be carefully plotted out on the war map between them. But he had no right to mourn what he'd so carelessly tossed away.

"You seem just so …," he began. But he couldn't find the word he was looking for.

In a way she was intrigued, so she let him suffer as he searched for the word in his head. "So what, Elliot?"

He knew he was trying her patience. "So ... different … you're stronger."

She scoffed at his words, moving to sit on the sofa and looking down at her bare feet. "I guess what they say is true."

He tilted his head in inquiry, so she stated the obvious for him. "You know ... what doesn't kill you ..."

"Right ... makes you stronger," he finished for her. "I get it."

Silence consumed the room then. He lowered his gaze and studied his own shoes, trying desperately to keep his eyes from wandering across the floor in front of him to her painted toenails.

"About that," he began tentatively. "I wanted to kill him."

Her eyes grew wide at his vague acknowledgement of her ordeal with William Lewis. She wanted to believe he didn't know. It was the only excuse for him not calling, not visiting, not confirming that she still had a pulse. Knowing that he knew hurt like hell. So she tried to hurt him back.

"It wasn't your place," she told him dismissively.

He was quick with his response. "It used to be."

She was looking down at her own feet now, happy for a moment's reprieve from having him in her line of vision. She swayed slightly on her feet then finally looked up to question him. "So you knew? You knew about that?"

He lowered his eyes, ashamed to admit that he'd known but done nothing. "Yeah. I looked in on you ... in my own way."

She desperately wanted to know more about that but refused to give him the satisfsction. Instead she snickered and lowered herself to sit on the sofa. "Nice to know you cared."

"Seriously?" Elliot asked much louder than he had intended. "You _honestly_ believe I don't care what happened ... what happens ... to you?"

If he was ramping up, she would too. "Well I don't know, Elliot. I haven't had many reasons to think so, have I?"

He took a moment to absorb her low blow. He hadn't come here to fight, but it came easily to them somehow. He smothered his urge to lash out and instead chose to redirect. "I don't know where to start, how to explain it to you."

She looked up at him then, but he didn't have it in him to meet her eyes at that moment. At first glance he was still the fit, muscled man who'd watched her back for 12 years. But below that, under his sturdy surface, she could see hints of incredible weakness in him. Compassion was a characteristic that made her good at her job. And now she decided she would show some to this man, _the_ man before her.

"I find with these kinds of things it's best to start at the beginning."

When he heard her encouraging words wrapped in a gentle tone, he expelled the breath he'd been holding. "Can I sit?"

She motioned with her palm to the arm chair across from the couch. She wasn't inviting him to sit next to her but she wasn't kicking him out either. He'd take that deal.

She wasn't sure who she was more angry with. Him for walking away. Or herself for giving a damn. She studied him from across the room. He was leaning forward in the armchair, his elbows propped on his knees and his hands clasped together in front of him. He was looking down at his hands and had yet to speak a word about the beginning, the middle or any part of the story he had to tell her. No matter how long he'd been gone she still knew a few truths about Elliot Stabler. He'd walk through walls for the people he loved, but he had no idea how to talk about his own feelings. He was a man of action, not words.

She would have to break the ice. But she surprised herself with what came out of her own mouth when she opened it.

"I thought about you, you know?" she said without looking at him. "When Lewis had me."

He looked up with wide eyes at her admission and her willingness to make it. He was compelled to move toward her, to touch her so he rose from the arm chair and stepped toward the couch. She raised a palm to fend him off. She didn't want contact, but she kept talking.

"When he had a gun on me, when I was sure he was going to rape me, maybe even kill me ... it was you. It was you I wanted to see," she explained. "And I hate you for that."

He really wanted to touch her, reach out to her, but he knew she wouldn't let him. So he had to speak. "I should have been there."

"You should have been there all along," she fired back.

He was right back to square one, mired in shame and regret. She'd let him take one step forward before launching him three steps back.

He stood and paced the living room, his shoes shuffling along the floorboards and his own hands in his pockets now. "You're right," he told her. "But I wouldn't have been any good to you. I wasn't any good to myself."

He had her attention now, and she wanted to hear more.

"I killed that girl, Olivia."

"You _had_ to shoot her," she said. "As rough as it was, she was going to kill all of us."

Elliot would not be so easily consoled. "I could have shot her in the leg. I didn't have to kill her."

"You know the job," she said, strangely enough now arguing in his defense. "Moments like that you don't get to pick your shot. You don't have time."

"I know all those things. But it didn't change how I felt. Like we'd done all this good, and there were still so many victims. The line was no longer black and white. It was turning more and more gray every day."

"You could have talked to me," she said. Then, with her voice trailing off, added, "I always thought we were friends."

"Best friends," he said, looking her square in the eye so there would be no doubt about his belief in their connection.

"Exactly. So why didn't you ..."

But he cut her off, suddenly brave enough to say it. "Do you know how _easy_ it would have been for me - at my lowest point like that - to fall into your arms?"

Her eyes widened with each word. He'd never - _never_ \- so overtly referred to any attraction, dependence, need. Whatever the hell it was that pulsed between them for more than a decade. She was stunned. It's not that she didn't know it was there. It's that she never really knew that he knew.

"Elliot ..."

"I'm sorry," he said, scrubbing a hand over his own face. "I shouldn't have said that."

In a way she didn't want him to take it back. It had taken this many years for anything close to those words to pass between them. There was no way she would let him crawl away from it now.

She rose and took a step toward him, but not close enough to be tempted to touch him. "Is it true? Were you really afraid of that happening between us?"

"Terrified," he said, squaring his shoulders to her. "Every fucking day."

She swallowed hard, suddenly feeling like she was walking through water, struggling for every breath.

"So what did you do?"

"I put in my papers. I drank. I destroyed the final shreds of my marriage."

She'd noticed his bare ring finger earlier in her office but it just pissed her off more that he hadn't told her about another defining moment in his life.

"You're divorced?" she asked, her voice almost cracking.

"Two years."

"Wow," she said, running her hands through her hair and turning away from him again. "I'm _so_ sorry."

He followed her as she stepped away. "Are you, Liv? Really?"

Her whole body snapped around at his accusation. "What the hell does that mean?"

He'd gotten too cocky and moved too quickly with the conversation. He had no right to push for admissions from her. He had no right to push for anything. He needed to backpedal, so he sat down and explained himself softly. "There were times when I was so sure that I saw it. Something in you, a look, a sign that you wouldn't have turned me away."

He'd floated it out there, hoping she'd say something, anything to let him know he wasn't wrong. But she looked down in silence, not wanting to give up the ghost or give him the satisfaction. She couldn't make it that easy for him.

"It's late," she said, her tone colder now. "You should go."

He reluctantly rose again from the chair and grabbed his jacket. She made her way to the door, ready to open it for him and clearly letting him know she was done with this - whatever this was - for tonight anyway.

He walked toward her slowly, stopping just short of touching her. In that moment, when he was clearly at risk of losing her again - he felt compelled to push his luck.

"And now," he said, courageously stepping into her space and reaching his hand up to tuck away hairs that had fallen from her messy bun. "The way you move around that squadroom, I find myself wondering what ... wondering what that ... this new you ... tastes like."

She swallowed hard as her eyes flicked between his and then, as if they had been invited there by his words, fell to his lips. She found herself moving toward him, her eyes slipping shut. He hadn't so much as touched her, but she felt like he was tugging and pulling at her, drawing her closer. She met his lips then, rolling hers firmly over his, lingering momentarily, then pulling away.

She opened her eyes before he did, and waited for him to look at her. "Now you know."

He was grinning ear to ear as he ran his tongue over his own lips, licking at the subtle hints of her that lingered there. He crooked a finger and ran it along her jaw and down the column of her throat. Then he splayed his fingers at the side of her neck, his thumb brushing inside the open collar of her blouse and touching her clavicle. His eyes dragged along the length of her delicate gold necklaces and settled at the dip in her cleavage. She grabbed his wrist immediately. "Stop," she said angrily. "You haven't earned that."

He turned the tables, grabbing both of her wrists and pinning them to the wall beside her head. He leaned into her ear and graveled, "I don't think you hate me, Olivia. I think you want to fuck me."

He thought for sure she'd be pissed. But she smirked at him, her eyes gleaming with impending victory at how quickly the power struggle between them was about to shift. "Maybe I do," she said simply, confidently. He stiffened immediately and swallowed hard as he forced his face not to show the shock rippling through him. "But I'm entirely too pissed at you to do it tonight. So get your hands off me. Now."

He released her wrists and stepped back for his own sake. He lowered his eyes and shook his head subtly but quickly, trying to pull his brain out from under the weight of her words.

"You …," he began. "You're like a weight on my chest. But I'll keep taking the blows. I know I deserve them."

"Just go. _Please_ ," she said turning knob and stepping back to let the door open.

He didn't try to kiss her again and he didn't say anything. He simply walked out the door she was holding open for him.

She closed the door behind him and rested her weight against it. She dipped her head and expelled a long, slow breath. It had taken everything in her not to show him what he did to her, what he still made her feel five years into his disappearing act. But she was determined to make him earn his way back into her life.


	3. Chapter 3

Three days had passed. Stabler did what he was told and communicated with SVU through Carisi. And since _technically_ she hadn't told him to not contact her socially, he _technically_ wasn't out of line when he rang her phone seven times over those three days. She ignored him each time, letting the calls go to voicemail, giving him a dose of his own medicine and suppressing the feelings welling up inside her since his unsolicited confessions in her apartment three nights ago.

But she knew he would overstep his boundaries eventually. In fact he already had. So she was subtly shocked that he hadn't shown himself since. Probably licking his wounds and plotting his next attack, she assumed. Things were progressing on the case, but she knew – _she just knew_ – he would be stewing. He wasn't one for not getting his way.

Her office door was open when he cautiously approached. He peeked around the doorframe to see her, glasses on and focused on putting her signature to paperwork generated by the squad. Her squad.

She'd always been beautiful yet vulnerable. But something about her had changed. She moved with a new confidence now, a sage swagger. Like she owned the place. He found it fascinating.

He was captivated enough to think she wouldn't know he was standing there. She never let on that she knew - until she spoke without looking up at him. "It's not happening tonight either, but you might as well come in."

He dropped his hands limply to his sides in defeat and threw his eyes to the ceiling. He looked sideways at her, silently questioning how the hell she knew. Finally he stepped from the doorway into her office. He rubbed his palms down his thighs as he settled into the chair across from her. Here he was again, feeling less like a guest than a subordinate who'd been called in here on the carpet.

"You really think that's why I'm here?"

She peered at him over her glasses, finally looking him over. "I know so. The idea that that door is open even the slightest bit," she said, curling her fingers about an inch and a half apart, "has you standing here in my office again." Then as if his presence was a trivial distraction, she returned to writing.

He studied her, searching for some way to prove she was wrong. Other than an outright lie, he hadn't a leg to stand on. So he stated what he thought was the obvious. "That door has never been open before."

She smirked to herself then, considering how the gifted detective in him could have been so damn clueless for so long. She didn't look at him when she said, "Not my fault you never tried knocking."

Was she really implying that he was right? That all along had he reached for her she would have reached back? He couldn't fathom the countless opportunities, the times he'd been clueless and the times he'd been terrified. Not to mention married.

She'd finally thrown him a bone and he was gaining confidence by the minute. "Have lunch with me."

She scoffed. "Ah ... no." She was quick and firm and nearly sarcastic with her answer.

"Why not?"

She fired off her reasons effortlessly. "Because I'm busy. You're a witness in an open investigation. And quite frankly you're not good for my appetite."

"What the hell does that mean?"

She glared at him, considering whether to explain herself further or launch another counterattack. She decided against both. "Nothing. Forget it.

"So you can't have lunch with your partner?"

Now he was just pushing her buttons. "You're not my partner anymore," she told him. "And five years out, there are fewer and fewer days that I find myself wishing you still were."

Her words were abrupt and crushing. She'd missed him but had learned to live without him. He'd wasted too much time. He felt as if he were trying to burst through a door that wouldn't budge. He kept throwing his shoulder into it and was launched backwards each time. He'd broken down many doors in his career so he was stubborn enough to keep trying. So as if he were searching his surroundings for crowbar or battering ram, he searched his mind for a new approach.

"Did you sleep last night?"

She stopped writing and pulled her glasses off, finally awarding him her full attention. Her eyes told him that his question had struck a nerve. She stared at him through a long silence before answering. "Did _you_?"

He didn't hesitate. "Not a fucking wink."

She dropped her glasses on the tablet in front of her with a soft plunk and pushed her chair back from her desk. She approached him, her hands stuffed in her pockets and her shoulders squared. She stared at him a moment, fighting against her urge to give in to him even a little bit. He stood and met her eyes, sure that he was about to be tossed out of her office and onto the street.

She took a deep breath and nibbled her lip as she considered her next move. She knew that the harder she pushed him away, the harder he'd fight. Damn him for leaving. Damn him for showing up now.

"I can't go until 2," she said softly, the reluctance apparent in her words.

He refused to let her see that she'd downright shocked him with her response. "Good," he said nodding his approval. "I'll be back."

Then he turned abruptly and left her office. For the first time since he'd walked back into her world - what used to be their world - he finally felt like maybe - just maybe - he wasn't too late.

She watched him walk out of the squad, dipping a nod to Fin as he left. She retreated back into her office. This time she closed the door.

* * *

He returned at 2:07. He'd been downstairs since 1:40, but didn't want to seem too anxious. It was all part of the dance. She emerged from an interview room a few minutes later to find him casually leaning against a support beam near her office. He was thumbing through his phone, trying to look busy and patient.

She found herself strangely happy to see him standing there. It's not that she thought he wouldn't be back. It's just that she wanted to remain annoyed with him. She'd have to give herself a firm talking to about that little flutter.

"You again," she teased.

He lifted his eyes from his phone without moving his head. "You know me. The gift that keeps on giving."

She managed a smile then. "Just let me check in with my babysitter and we can go."

"Do it on the way. I'll drive," he said.

It would save time so there was really no reason to argue. She grabbed her blazer and her phone and brushed past him on the way out of the squad. He watched her walk a few steps ahead of him, silently chiding himself for letting his eyes wander, then pushed himself off the wall and followed her out.

He knew better than to open her door for her when they got to his car. She'd rip his head off and spit down his neck if he made a move that so convincingly transformed lunch between friends into anything that even remotely resembled a date. He slid in next to her and started the car. "So where to?"

"This was your big idea, so you pick." Then she turned her attention to her phone and tapped Lucy's phone number.

As he drove, he eavesdropped on a conversation he never thought she'd have, taking in the small milestones of Noah's day and setting her sights on pushing through her own front door by 7 p.m. As she hung up, she caught him smiling. "What's so amusing?"

"Nothing, Liv. It's just … nice, you know."

"Lucy is a Godsend."

"Not that. I mean it's nice to see you … and forgive me if I am making assumptions here … happy."

"It's a whole new world, you know," she said running her fingers through her hair. "Of course you know."

"That doesn't mean it gets to be old hat," he said. "Enjoy every moment. They go by so damn fast."

She let his parenting advice linger between them a moment. "Speaking of fast, where are we headed."

"I'm thinking Chinese."

"I could go for that. But we have to be quick."

"Aren't you the boss now?"

"Exactly," she said. "And as you'll recall, we happen to be in the middle of a case."

"Relax Liv. You'll think better with a good meal and some time out of that squad room. I'll get you back in plenty of time to lock up all the bad guys."

After they ordered, they slowly slipped into cautious conversation again. He munched from a basket of crunchy Chinese noodles, and she studied the small particles of tea leaves swimming at the bottom of her tiny cup, considering whether to ask him the question that was among the reasons she hadn't slept last night.

"The other night …," she began. "You were doing so well. Why'd you push it?"

He didn't really have an acceptable answer for that. Not one that wouldn't earn him a right cross from the other side of the table. He munched one more noodle before offering a response. "I guess I'm still a work in progress. See, I don't have all the right moves here Liv. I'm going by feel."

She rolled her eyes and smirked at him. "Yeah I got that."

She spooned a dab of duck sauce onto a small plate and used a knife and fork to slice open her egg roll. He watched her go through the simple motions of everyday life with amusement. They'd done these little things together hundreds of time during their partnership. But it was little glimpses back into her life that made him realize how very much he'd missed her.

She looked up at him as she chewed, studying his demeanor and waiting to swallow before pushing the issue. "So what'd you expect? For me within 24 hours to fall into bed with you?"

His eyes grew wide at her question and the very inclusion of her, him and a bed in the same sentence. "God no … I just …"

But she cut him off. "Where is all this coming from? Why now?"

The old Olivia would have beat around the bush a few years before coming right out and asking him about his intentions. But not this Olivia. She'd been to hell and back and lived to tell about it. That would change anybody. Instinctively, he relied on a good defense as the best offense in this situation. " _You_ kissed _me_ , Olivia."

"That wasn't for you. That was for me," she scrambled to say. "I was just trying to put your curiosity to rest so you'd leave."

"You still kissed _me_."

She was quiet then, part pissed and part guilty. She had in fact kissed _him_. Even though his words had set the scene, she'd still been the one to move first. On the other side of the table, he was gaining strength, having for the first time since he'd reappeared, an actual upper hand. And for the first time, she looked away first. As soon as she did, he felt bad for making her uncomfortable.

He pushed one of the crunchy noodles through the duck sauce on her plate and looked her over. "Was it what you expected?"

Her eyes flung upwards. "Christ Elliot, what do you want from me?"

"I want what you're willing to give me?"

"What does that even mean?" she asked through a voice tinged with disdain.

"I want you in my life again."

She chuckled in disbelief. "Do you realize how assanine you sound right now?" After all, he'd been the one to walk away, pushing her out of his life. How dare he ask for reentry?

"I've been taking what you've been dishing out," he argued. "You think this is easy for me?"

"I'm not interested in what's easy for you," she barked, her voice rising now.

He raised his palms trying to stall the escalation of the tension between them. "Okay, let's try this. Just answer me this? Was any part of you happy to see me the other day?"

In fact several parts of her had been and still were very happy to see him. But she wouldn't tell him that. She couldn't deny the heated shock that shot through her when Fin's iPad had given her the first glimpse of him in years. She couldn't deny that underneath the anger bubbled a sense of anticipation when he'd shown up at her door three nights ago. And she couldn't deny that she was getting some perverse pleasure out of making him work for it. While she ran it all through her head he patiently waited for her answer. She didn't lie, but she wasn't completely honest either.

"I don't know. Maybe," she said, the last word fading into her tea cup as she pulled it to her lips.

He gave her a small smile and echoed the words she'd spoken in her office three days ago. "Well I guess that's a start."


	4. Chapter 4

They exchanged a look of silent agreement to put down their armaments - for the duration of the meal anyway.

Anxious to change the subject, Olivia set out to pry a bit and catch up on his life. "So tell me what happened ... with Kathy?"

"You know my marriage was living on borrowed time, Liv," he explained. "Time just ran out."

"Just like that?"

Elliot sat back in his seat and repositioned his napkin on his lap before continuing. "Me spending more time in a bottle than with her or Eli didn't help. I was self-destructing, and she was pretty clear that she wasn't willing to go down with me."

"Can you blame her?"

"Not one bit," he offered quickly. "She'd already toughed it out too long. She didn't need to hang around to watch me ..." Then his voice trailed off and he dropped his eyes and fiddled with aligning his fork and knife in front of him.

The shift in his body language told Olivia that there was something he wasn't quite ready to reveal. If he wanted honesty from her, she expected it from him. "Watch you what, Elliot? Tell me."

He looked at her, but didn't speak immediately. His fingers continued to manipulate his silverware into perfect alignment while she waited. "Let's just say … I wasn't sure I wanted to be around anymore."

She gave his words a moment to sink in before she felt the lump in the back of her throat and her heart ache like it was being squeezed inside her chest. "Jesus Christ," she breathed. "Did you ... did you try?"

"Didn't get that far. Thought about it."

"You could have called."

"Maybe I didn't want to be talked out of it," he explained. "And maybe I didn't want you to see me like that."

She found herself strangely angry with him about this. "You son of bitch," she nearly seethed. "That's not fair."

"Liv, please just let it be. I'm not in that place anymore. And I already told you why I didn't call."

"Give me some kind of credit," she argued. "Just because you might have fallen into my arms doesn't mean I would have let you."

"Was I so wrong … about us?"

She finished off her eggroll and shoved the plate away from her. "Not entirely. No."

"Look, I can't take back what happened. I can't change it," he pleaded with her. "So can we just work on now?"

She'd give him an honest answer if she actually knew what now was. She was still angry and still hurt, but for evolving reasons. Ironically if she'd known he was suicidal, she might have killed him herself for being so damned selfish.

"I really don't want to fight, you know," she said. "But you hurt me, Elliot. I never expected that from you."

"It wasn't a real stand-up thing to do, how I handled it," he acquiesced. "I've never felt so powerless."

"I guess I can understand that," she empathized. "He … uh … Lewis made me feel like that. Made me someone I never thought I'd be."

"But look at you now," he blurted out. "You're … I don't know … thriving."

It was a strange choice of words, she thought. But it was one that had come up in conversations with her therapist and with victims in recent months. And the very thought that she was finally thriving made his reappearance all that much more frightening. She couldn't go back to being the woman she was back then, depriving herself of a life because of feelings she couldn't admit. She expected more out of herself now. So she resolved right then and there - as they shared each other's Chinese food like the past five years hadn't happened - that she'd handle Elliot Stabler with kid gloves.

The conversation had taken a comfortable turn, so she wasn't necessarily anxious to leave him after lunch, but she _was_ eager to get back to work so she could, in turn, get home to Noah at a decent hour. So even though he was reluctant to let her go again, he drove her directly back to the precinct. He was happy for the time she'd given him.

"I did need to eat, El, so thanks for not taking no for an answer."

"I'm still hard headed. That hasn't changed," he teased.

"Like you said, a work in progress," she teased back.

The time had come to say goodbye and he wanted to be clear that it was only for now. "I'm at a loss for any more big ideas right now," he said. "But I know I'd like to see you again. And I'd like it to be sooner than five years."

She rolled her eyes slightly and looked him over as she considered speaking the words in her head. She began to turn toward the door but stopped. "El?"

"Yep," he acknowledged matter-of-factly.

"Would you like to meet Noah?"

He hoped like hell that he'd kept a straight face as he silently thanked his God for her invitation. It was as unexpected as it was welcome.

"Yeah, he said, his voice cracking slightly. Then he cleared his throat. "Yeah I would."

"Dinner Friday night," she offered. "I'm cooking."

"Well then I'm eating."

"Just dinner. No sex."

She wasn't sure why'd she said that so abruptly so brazenly. Maybe it was less to manage his expectations than to remind herself of her own limitations.

He was nearly offended. "C'mon, Liv. Just because I made one wrong move doesn't mean I'm incapable of thinking about anything else."

She titled her head and eyed him skeptically. He couldn't help but laugh at her expression.

"Look … would I absolutely love to go there with you, to be with you like that?" he admitted. "I'm not gonna lie."

She titled her head back up, satisfied that she'd finally gotten him to admit his interest in a physical relationship. Chalk another one up for her. She'd also gotten him to confirm that he wanted her like that, the way she wanted him.

"But if there's one thing I've learned," he added. "It's that a man can live without sex."

She considered his words and their implication yet found it difficult to believe that a man with his bulk, his eyes and his irritatingly arrogant smile - not to mention empty ring finger - had hit a lengthy dry spell.

"How long?"

He chuckled and looked out his window before turning back to her. "How long has it been since I've had sex with someone other than myself?"

"Elliot ..."

"Too long."

She pressed on. "What … like a year?"

He laughed a little at how very far off she was. "Not even close."

"Since the divorce?"

"Longer."

Her eyes widened, and he was suddenly uncomfortable with her inquisition. "Why does it matter?"

"I guess it doesn't," she said. "I just … I just want to know."

"It's been a long time, Liv. But I hear it's like riding a bike."

She gazed out the windshield briefly before continuing. "Since you left?"

He didn't respond, but the look on his face told her she was in the ballpark.

"What about you?"

"Not _that_ long," she said, but immediately felt bad for the judgmental tone with which she'd said it.

He reached over and took her hand in his. She let him, distracted by his intensely fixed gaze. "There are a lot of things I've learned to live without since the last time I saw you."

She couldn't help but break his eye contact and look out her own window briefly while she waited for his weighted words to dissipate in the small space between them. She swallowed thickly and broke the brief but awkward silence. "So Friday. You'll be there? Say around 7:30?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

The moment seemed as though it needed more. He wanted to kiss her. He really did. But he thought it best to end their lunch outing on a safe note. He went with the most benign affectionate gesture he could muster. He squeezed her hand and slowly released it, drawing his hand back into his lap and settling in to savor each second until inevitably she'd move to get out of the car.

"Well, alright then," she said, grasping the door handle.

"Alright then," he replied with a soft smile.

And then she was gone.

* * *

When she opened her door to greet him on Friday night he was taken aback by her appearance. Not because she looked beautiful - he was prepared for that - but because she looked so relaxed, so at home. Her well-worn jeans were rolled up a few inches to reveal olive-skinned ankles that led down to bare feet with toenails painted the same soft lavender as the baggy sweater she was wearing. The fabric was plentiful enough that it nearly hung off one shoulder, exposing the sexy skin along her collarbone. What really drew his eyes were hers. The smile she offered crept up into them, and they were shining.

"Hey," she said, wiping her hands on the dish towel she was holding. "You're right on time."

"Smells good."

"That's a good sign," she offered. "I hope it tastes good too."

"Really Liv, I'm just impressed you're actually buying groceries these days."

She smacked him playfully before inviting him inside. "Come. I want you to meet the other man in my life."

He forced himself not to linger on her words or give them too much meaning. Instead he moved through the doorway past her and let his eyes fall on the bundle of chubby cuteness in the middle of the living room floor.

"So this is Noah, huh?" he said in a soft voice as he approached the toddler and instinctively kneeled to get down to his level. The boy could hardly be bothered with company as he was knee-deep in pawing at a variety of soft play balls. He fisted one and brought it to his mouth as he eyed Elliot.

Olivia kneeled between them and got Noah's full attention. "Noah this is mommy's friend, Elliot. Can you say hi?" she prompted, waving her palm at her former partner.

The baby's eyes traveled from his mother's hand to Elliot's face, then he mimicked her movements by raising his own chubby palm and offering a clumsy wave.

"Hey buddy," Elliot said, getting in a playful wave of his own.

"I'll let you two get acquainted while I get dinner on the table," she said, retreating toward the kitchen.

Elliot didn't flinch when she left them. He may not have all the right moves when it came to Olivia, but he sure as hell knew his way around babies. He moved to a cross-legged position on the floor and pulled off his jacket to get comfortable for play time.

Moments later, Olivia set a salad bowl on the table then went to the kitchen to remove a steaming casserole dish from the oven. She placed it on two trivets on the table and drew Noah's high chair close to the table.

"Mind bringing him over?" she asked Elliot, nodding her head toward her son.

Elliot showed the boy his hands before he drew up onto his knees, slipped his hands under Noah's armpits and pulled himself into a standing position as he lifted the baby into his arms. He walked to the table, stopping once along the way to retrieve the ball Noah had dropped and was now pointing at. Olivia removed the high chair tray to give Elliot easy access to deposit the boy, then strapped him in and clicked the tray back into place.

Elliot followed her lead and slipped into the chair she wasn't leaning toward. He looked over the heaping salad and the bubbling cheese atop the pan of lasagna on the table. Before she filled her own plate, Olivia busied herself using the edge of her fork to break up pieces of saucy lasagna noodles onto a smaller plate for Noah. She added a few slivers of crispy lettuce, two tiny chunks of tomato and tore off four shreds of bread.

As Elliot enjoyed his first bites, he watched her work. He'd seen her eat hundreds of times before, but he'd never seen this - the unlikely mother who'd slipped so effortlessly into the role she'd always wanted to play.

"This is pretty damn good, Liv," he said between mouthfuls.

"There are a few things _I've_ gotten good at since the last time I saw _you_ ," she said, glancing up at him with what he was sure was a flirtatious smile.

"I see that," he agreed, watching her push a few more morsels within Noah's reach.

As they ate, she remembered a question that had slipped to the back of her mind amid the week's events. After taking a gulp of lemon water, she set the glass back down and folded her arms in front of her. "So Fin says that Eli goes to PS29 now. That's a long haul from Queens."

Elliot didn't miss a beat. "Eli doesn't live in Queens anymore. He lives in Brooklyn with me."

"Wow. I didn't realize."

"Kathy wanted to go back to work after the divorce and with me in semi-retirement, I owed her that much."

"You have full custody?"

"We have an understanding," he explained. "She gets him weekends, but for the most part, it's just us guys now."

"And the others?"

"College, grad school, Dickie joined the army."

She offered surprise at the news of his eldest son's career choice. "And you were okay with that? I mean after you and he battled about that?"

"I'd hate like hell for him to see action," Elliot said after swallowing. "But he's working an electronics detail stateside for now. He's just outside of Houston."

They continued eating, interacting with Noah in between bites. Elliot took it upon himself to wipe the boy's face and offer him sips of water now and then.

"I hear you lost your partner," he said. "I mean ... uh ... your new partner. What happened with that?"

"I guess I have a way of chasing them away," she said mostly in gest.

"You _can_ be a pain in the ass at times," he quipped back. "But seriously, what happened?"

"You really wanna know?"

He nodded.

"Seems that when his wife left him and took his kid, he developed a bit of a rage issue. How's that for dejavu?" she said, studying his reaction.

"Wow," he said as he considered her reference to his downspiral into anger during a lengthy separation from Kathy years earlier. "You _do_ know how to pick 'em."

"Kinda hoping this pattern of mine doesn't continue," she reflected. "But Fin is solid. He keeps me grounded."

"Well something went right. You got Noah," Elliot pointed out. "If you don't mind me asking ..."

She went on to explain how she and Rollins had rescued the infant from a porn-producing pedophile, just one stop along his colorful tour of bad situations and shitty foster homes in his first six months. He listened intently as she explained the Ellie Porter case, the treacherous introduction of Johnny Drake into the mix and how the Trevor Langan who Elliot previously fancied as a high-priced but morally-deficient defense attorney had actually turned out to be a pretty decent guy.

By the time she brought him up to speed on how Noah had become hers, they were done with dinner. He offered to clean up so she could have some down time with Noah before his quickly approaching bedtime. As the boy was already rubbing his eyes, she took him up on his offer.

"I must say it's been very nice meeting you, little man," Elliot said, slipping two fingers into Noah's palm in a makeshift man-to-man handshake. "Anyone who makes your mommy as happy as you do is alright with me."

It wasn't fair really. Here he was in her apartment, cleaning up after a delicious meal, and saying and doing all the right things with her son. She was quickly losing her urge to fight him off and keep him at arm's length when, in reality, watching the two most influential males in her life interact made her feel somehow safer than she had in a very long time.

As he did the dishes, the sound of the running water served to drown out the muffled conversation she was having with Noah as she readied him for bed.

"Looks like Mommy's got herself a little problem here," she said rhetorically to her son. The baby was oblivious to her words but captivated by her attention, grabbing at her nose and necklaces as she changed him. She turned her lips into his tiny palm and kissed it as she thought out loud. "We were doing just fine here, you and me. Then along comes Mr. Elliot. What ever will we do with him?"

The only answers the boy gave came in the form of giggles as he watched his mother's exaggerated facial expressions. "Good thing you have plenty of time before you worry about falling in ... before you even think about girls." The boy giggled as Olivia laid a trail of affectionate kisses along his tiny chest and wiggled uncontrollably when she blew raspberries on his belly. Finally she got his squirmy form into his pajamas and dimmed the light in the bedroom to a small lamp on the dresser. She laid him in his crib and smiled at him as he gripped her finger in his tiny hand. She spoke softly to him about sweet dreams and such until he turned slightly to his right side and his bright brown eyes grew too heavy with sleep to watch her anymore.

* * *

By the time she emerged from the bedroom, Elliot had popped open a bottle of red wine and was finishing filling two glasses when he saw her. She had a strangely satisfied look on her face.

"I hope you don't mind," he said lifting one of the wine glasses toward her.

"Not at all. Good idea," she said, taking the glass from his hand and turning toward the living room. "You wanna sit?"

"I'd love to sit."

As they walked into the living room, Elliot thought it best to occupy the arm chair she'd relegated him to the last time he was here. But she was having none of it. She patted the couch cushion beside her. It was an offer he wouldn't refuse, settling down a respectable distance from her on the sofa.

The two feet between them gave him a safety zone and enough space to really look at her. "You look peaceful when you're with him," Elliot offered, nodding his head toward the now drawn bedroom door.

"It's funny," she said thoughtfully. "He keeps me on my toes, and I've never been busier. But it's like ... I've been waiting for him my whole life."

"You deserve good things, Liv, and I'm sorry I haven't been one of them."

His words surprised her and it was evident in her face. So he continued. "I know I could never say it enough, but I am so very sorry for not being strong enough to stick around," he said, looking away from her. "I just didn't feel strong enough for anything."

She appreciated his words and how difficult it must have been for him to speak them. "You didn't eat your gun," she began. "Even though it was an ending. you finally got your marriage situation figured out, and you're here. You didn't run when i worked you over."

He was grateful that she'd accepted his second attempt at an apology. The Olivia who had hovered over him in the earliest moments of their reunion captivated him, but he liked this one better.

"Can I ask you something?"

She smiled sideways at him, slightly skeptical about what he might ask. "Yeah, I guess so. Shoot."

"If you don't want to talk about this I understand ..."

"Just ask, El."

It was El, not Elliot, he noted. It gave him the courage to continue with his question.

"You said the other night that you thought about me when he had you."

And here her greatest fears were coming to fruition. He'd chosen the one topic she didn't want to discuss. "El please, I don't want to ..."

"No wait," he said, raising one palm to delay her protest. "I don't need to know why. What I want to know is ... if you'll tell me ... did he ... uh," he faltered, watching the swirl of his wine glass as he struggled to get the question out. "Did he rape you?"

She released the breath she was holding. He might have thought this was a particularly fragile question, but she actually found it much easier to answer than trying to explain why he'd been the one in her head those four days.

"No. No, he didn't," she answered firmly. "And I don't know why. For four fucking days he did terrible things to me, but he never got around to that."

Her answer stirred a strange mix of feelings in him. On one hand he was flooded with relief that she hadn't been raped. But he also felt his old friend rage bubbling to the surface at the acknowledgement that she'd had to endure four days with the bastard.

She watched him process her answer and it wasn't lost on her that it wasn't sitting well with him. "I've been in therapy a year, come a long way with all of that. And then came Noah," she explained. "So if there are things you want to know about that, you can ask. I won't break."

He could almost hear imaginary tumblers turning in the locks as she offered him unbridled access to her feelings about her horrific ordeal. He completely appreciated the monumental step they'd just taken in the right direction.

"So um ... how did ... did Cassidy help you through it?"

Her eyebrows leapt upwards at the mention of her former boyfriend's name. She almost wished Noah would awaken now and cry for her just to rescue her from this topic too. She threw her eyes over his shoulder and browsed over her own bookshelves to frames that once held Brian Cassidy's picture and the spot on the wall that once held his God-awful bullhorns. She'd not only replaced Elliot's face, but had wiped Brian from her life too. "You knew about that?"

"Didn't want to know really," he admitted. "That way it wasn't real. But yeah, I heard."

"The answer is no. He didn't handle it well." Then, with her voice fading as she rose to refill her wine glass, he heard her add, "Or maybe I didn't handle it well with him."

"What do you mean?" asked, following her to the counter.

"I never talked to him about it," she explained. "Not even like we're talking about it now. But he was there, he didn't push me, so I'll always grateful to him for that."

As they returned to the couch with refills, she chose not to tell him how Brian had previously inhabited this very apartment with her or how for a few fleeting moments she thought she was pregnant with his child.

"So why isn't he here now?"

"Elliot, I said we could talk about Lewis. I didn't give you an all-access pass to my psyche here."

He raised his palms and apologized immediately. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to overstep. Guess I pushed it again."

"What is it with you? Why are you such a knucklehead?" she said tapping him playfully on the forehead.

Their amusement with each other served to lighten the mood.

"Okay, my turn," she announced. "I get to ask you an invasive question now."

"Fair enough."

"You asked me if ... the other night ... if it was what I expected."

He smiled at the direction she was going. "I did."

"Was it?" she asked. "What _you_ expected, I mean?"

He smiled and titled his head to look at her. "Well, I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?" she argued. "It either was or it wasn't."

"Hmmm," he hummed teasingly. "I can't seem to recall. Refresh my memory?"

She shook her head at him and laughed. At his audacity, at his rudimentary skills of seduction. Just at him.

He enjoyed watching her laugh. "There I go pushing it again."

"Very smooth," she smiled. "But I'm gonna let you have this one."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she agreed. "Anything to shut you up."

"So you're saying …"

She growled playfully in frustration. "Do you _ever_ shut up?"

"Only when I have something else to do with my mouth," he said as he leaned toward her, licking his lips. He watched her eyes slip shut before his closed his own and pressed his lips to hers. With the shock of the other night gone, he was able to consciously register this kiss, to really feel it.

For her part, she wasn't angry with him this time or trying to prove a point. She wanted this kiss. She'd wanted it for years.

He slowly pulled back and studied her face, watching as she opened her eyes. He was still holding his wine glass in his right hand but his left hand was free to reach up and twirl a few strands of her hair between his fingers.

"You know in all these years I never said it. I _couldn't_ say it. But you really _are_ beautiful."

She couldn't suppress her smile as she licked her own lips. "You sweet-talkin' me now, Stabler. You're smoother than I thought."

"S'the truth."

She set her wine glass on the coffee table then reached over and took his from his hand and set it next to hers. His eyes followed her movements, shining with speculation as to why she might want his hands free. She scooted a nudge closer to him and moved her head towards his, making it clear that she wanted to be kissed again. He slid his left hand along her jaw and drew her face the rest of the way to his and pressed his lips to hers a little more firmly this time. She tilted her head into the kiss as it lingered longer than the two previous ones they'd shared. Her face was smooth and his was rough, but their lips slipped more comfortably into rhythm as each second passed.

As they parted, he dropped his hand from her jaw and opened his eyes to see the softest of expressions on her face. They simply smiled at each other.

"So … um … how come ...," she struggled to ask. "How come you never did that before?"

"You mean ..."

"In all these years?"

"It's not that I didn't want to," he said convincingly. "I just ... wasn't strong enough to do it. Or strong enough to stop once I did."

"But you wanted to?"

"Oh _yes_." He couldn't even fathom that she was asking. "No doubt."

"Okay then," she said. "Do it again."

He smiled as he moved his lips toward hers again. "Okay," he whispered into her mouth as the distance between them dwindled. This time he cupped her face with both hands and touched the tip of his tongue ever so slightly along her lower lip. He waited for her response. She surprised him by rising up slightly from her seated position and moving not just her mouth but her entire body closer to his. His left hand slipped from her face and wrapped around to her back, pulling her closer.

She didn't fight it. In fact she one-upped him and slipped her tongue past his lips and into the warm, wet recesses of his mouth. He instantly chided himself when the moan escaped him. She smiled against his mouth when she heard it.

When they parted again, she caught him pressing the inside of his forearm down into his crotch, attempting to suppress his response to their kisses. She smiled at him knowingly.

"Liv you said ... you were pretty clear."

"And I still am," she said firmly. "But I never said we couldn't make out a little."

He mirrored the big smile she was flashing at him, pulling her closer and finally kissing her, really kissing her like he'd wanted to all these years. Like he wanted to when she sat him down in her office less than a week ago. His hands wrapped around her back and one of hers explored the back of his neck. As it lingered, they both relaxed into the kiss, giving up the fight, the power struggle and just allowing themselves to feel. It was the first emotion that passed between them in years that didn't hurt like hell.

As his hands tangled in her hair, she fought the urge to rise up and move into his lap. She felt her own body responding to his mouth and was thankful that he'd managed to keep his hands from wandering anywhere else. As her lips rolled over his, she thought back to his admissions in the car the other day. It wasn't fair for her to lead him down this path when she had every intention of turning back. For now. So she put everything she had into one last kiss, making it clear to him that she was on board with the feel of his mouth on hers and the tug of his heart at hers. Then she pulled away, sealing up their makeout session with a few quick pecks, almost weaning herself away from his mouth.

"Did I do something wrong?" he asked breathlessly when they parted.

"Not at all," she assured him. "I … uh … had to stop for my own sake, okay?"

"Okay," he said, his single word loaded with understanding. "I should get going anyway."

He released her hand and grabbed his jacket, rising to put it on and head for the door before she really got a look at how enthusiastic he was feeling about her kiss. But she knew. She'd seen and chosen not to point out the obvious.

"Dinner was delicious," he said turning back to her. "That kid of yours is a piece of work," he said affectionately. "And you …," he continued, motioning with his hand toward her, "are just … you." He shook his head at her, a simple gesture to indicate that she was just a little too much for him to handle right now.

As he grabbed the doorknob, she spoke again. "El, I'm … um … sorry about …," then, her words faltering, she motioned to the couch with a wave of her hand. "About cutting that short."

As far as he was concerned, she had nothing to apologize for. "Look Liv, do I need it? Probably. Do I want it? With every fiber of my being. Will I wait? As long as you need me to."

He'd put together an impressive string of words there, so she told him so. "Well listen to you making pretty speeches n'all," she quipped.

Her amused expression was irresistible, so he brought his palm to her face and leaned in to kiss her softly.

"Goodnight."

"Night," she whispered back.

She closed the door behind him and leaned her weight back against it. She sighed heavily, but not in frustration as she had that first night in her apartment. Tonight she felt like a school girl with a crush and her sigh was a way of releasing a few of the butterflies flapping around in her belly.

She reminded herself that she was a grown-ass woman as she walked over to the window overlooking the street where he was parked. Before he appeared below, she fired off a quick text message. Then she watched him jog across the street, get into his car and start the engine. Before he pulled away, she saw his phone screen illuminate the car's interior.

On the street below, he swiped his phone to view the text she'd sent. A smile spread across his face as he looked up at her window just in time to see the curtains sway shut. He set his phone down on the passenger seat and pulled away. As he reached the corner, the screen slowly began to dim on her words.

 _You won't be waiting long._


	5. Chapter 5

She lied.

The wait took longer than she'd originally intended or really wanted. Between Zachary Scott recanting his statement, Chief Dodds beckoning her to COMSTAT and Noah developing another ear infection, she'd trudged through a pair of pretty trying weeks. She and Elliot had texted and shared a few late-night phone calls but hadn't occupied the same space since dinner at her place. She'd reluctantly agreed to lunch with him today although she knew it wasn't wise to slip away from the squad under these conditions.

He rounded the corner and entered the squad just in time to see her office door open and her step into the bullpen with Trevor Langan.

"Okay Olivia, I'll be in touch," he heard Langan say.

"I appreciate it," she responded.

Elliot watched her smile affectionately at and then run her hand down the arm of the towering attorney with the square jaw and piercing eyes. As his blood pressure rose, he soon found himself face to face with the man himself. Langan did a double-take, having not seen Stabler in years.

"Hey … uh … Stabler."

Elliot didn't smile or act as if he was happy to see the man. Instead his eyes cut like daggers as he offered a single word in response. "Langan."

Olivia saw him coming so she waited at her office door until he approached. He followed her into the office as she went straight for her desk drawer to grab her purse. She'd been happy to see him until she spun on a dime as soon she heard how violently he'd slammed the door behind them, leaving the slatted blind to clatter against the doorframe.

She knew this look on his face. It was predatory and possessive. She hadn't seen it in quite some time, and she hadn't missed it one damned bit.

"Is there a problem?" she asked him.

He scoffed a little, positioning his hands on his hips and delivering his words in confrontation. "So what's that all about?"

"What's _what_ all about?"

"You and Langan seem pretty touchy feely there," he pressed. "How long's that been going on?"

She went from annoyed to flat out pissed in 2.4 seconds.

"You know what … lunch is off," she said, dropping her purse back into her desk drawer and kicking it shut. "The other night was nice. _Really_ nice. But you don't get to do this. You can't come busting in here and start banging on your chest. I've got a squad to run so … just … go!"

Fin had heard the yelling so he knocked on her office door but didn't wait for her answer before he swung the door open to see her and Stabler squaring off across her desk.

"Everything okay in here?"

She lifted her palms off her desk and leaned back upright, her eyes traveling from Fin and back to Elliot. She challenged him with her glare and then her words.

"I don't know. Elliot, _is_ everything okay in here?"

Fin side-eyed Stabler and immediately recognized his bullshit body language. He'd seen it so many times before, more than a few times over Olivia.

"Same old Stabler, huh?"

Elliot turned to him and barked, "Oh _fuck you_ , Fin. Something you need?"

Fin squared his shoulders and took a step forward. Olivia suddenly found herself stepping between them as she'd done so many times before. She moved toward her office door to usher them both out. "You," she said motioning to Fin, "back to work. And _you_ ," she said scouring Elliot as if she couldn't stand the sight of him. "Just out."

Fin reluctantly backed away toward the open door. He questioned Olivia with his eyes.

"It's fine," she told him.

Fin left them alone, so she softened her tone and tried to deescalate this thing with Elliot.

"Look, Langan's part of a really good thing that happened to me. He's one of the good guys now," she explained. "That doesn't mean I'm sleeping with him. But even if I was, it's none of your damned business."

Elliot never knew when to quit, especially when it came to her. "But you've thought about it?"

"Christ Elliot," she huffed, turning away from him to gather herself. She spun back to him and barked, "Do you see _him_?" He followed her finger to see her pointing to a framed photo of Noah on the credenza behind her desk. "Do _you_?"

"Yeah," he said so quietly she had to strain her neck to hear him.

"It's not about _you_ ," she said poking a finger into Elliot's chest. "It's about _him_. From here on out it's about _him_. You can figure out where you fit or … you can just disappear again."

"Liv …" he began.

She was annoyed that he was actually going to speak. Now her hands were perched firmly on her hips while she waited to hear what he might dare to say.

"I've missed you so much, and now I've got you back, and I just …"

"Yeah well … I haven't missed _this_ ," she said motioning between them.

For a moment they just stared at each other. She hadn't missed his jealous bullshit. She'd seen so much of it when he was married and had absolutely no right to be jealous, so she had zero tolerance for it now. He'd worn out that welcome years ago. But she was tired, so tired, and she didn't have it in her to fight.

"You told me when you first showed up here that you care about what happens to me," she said. "So _do_ you?"

He was surprised at her question. "Of _course_ I do."

"If you really, _really_ care, you won't do this. You won't push this," she explained. "You'll just go and let it be for another day."

He looked around the room over her shoulder. At the big desk that was now hers, littered with case files. At the photo of her saluting at her promotion ceremony. At Noah. And then back to her beautiful chocolate eyes that seemed to be pleading with him. He didn't say another word. He silently opened the door, slipped through it and closed it behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

He laid low the rest of the day. Until, like clockwork, he showed up at her door that night. She swung the door open ready to pounce, but he already had his hands raised in surrender. Her mouth was open, ready to launch a verbal assault, but she switched her approach when she saw him. "Let me guess. Work in progress?"

"How'd you know?" he said with a meek smile.

"Look I really don't want to ... _can't_ do this tonight," she nearly pleaded. "It'll go better for both of us if we just take a couple of days."

"Fair enough," he surrendered. "I just wanted to bring you something."

He slowly lowered one of his raised hands – much like a perp carefully surrendering a weapon – reached into his leather jacket and pulled out something from the inside pocket. She did a double take, convincing herself that he _was_ really standing there holding – could it be - a roll of toilet paper.

She looked at him with wide eyes and a questioning gaze. There simply weren't words for his offering. " _Really?_ "

"I figured you might need it," he said, stifling back a grin. "If you're gonna hang around an asshole like me."

She tried to hold back the laugh. She really did. But it slipped through her knitted lips as she took the roll from his hand. As soon as she did, he turned away and walked back down the hallway, glancing over his shoulder just once to punctuate his brief apology with a little smile.

Olivia rolled her eyes and retreated back into her apartment, placing the curious object on the side table where she kept her keys. She chuckled at it – still in disbelief – then went about her business.

* * *

Four days passed. It took everything in Elliot not to call, text or show up again. He forced himself to abstain, knowing he had a better chance of seeing her again if he let her set the pace.

The squad was overrun with a pair of complicated cases that week, and Olivia was hard-pressed to spend sufficient time with Noah, much less pursue whatever was developing with Elliot. On the fourth day, after putting in 15 excruciating hours and resisting the urge to put Ed Tucker from IAB through her office wall, she finally made it home. Noah was already asleep in his crib, and Lucy wasn't far behind on the sofa.

"Hey," Olivia spoke softly as she set down her wares inside the front door. "Thanks so much for staying. I owe you one. In fact, I owe you many."

"No worries, Liv," the young nanny responded. "I was able to get some reading done for class."

Olivia reached into the breast pocket of her coat and pulled out an envelope, passing it off to Lucy. "I put a little something extra in for your time."

"I appreciate it," Lucy said, gathering her backpack. "See you tomorrow."

As Olivia took off her coat and followed Lucy's movements toward the door, her eyes fell on the lonely roll of toilet paper that was clearly out of place on her end table. "About tomorrow … I'm gonna work from home. But could you come in the evening for a few hours?"

Lucy thought a moment then answered. "That'll work."

"Great," Olivia sighed with relief. "I wanna spend some time with Noah during the day and maybe see a friend for dinner."

They agreed upon 7 p.m. and Lucy left. Olivia moved quietly toward the bedroom to shed her work clothes. She kissed two of her fingertips and pressed them softly to Noah's sleeping face. Once she was changed, she heated up some leftovers and settled into the sofa to unwind.

She silently questioned herself as to whether she was inviting more drama into her life if she went through with the phone call she felt compelled to make. Although she was learning to think more with her head than her heart these days, she acted on the impulse and dialed Elliot's cell.

"Hey Liv." He was out of breath when he answered. She was curious what he'd been doing but refrained from asking. In reality he'd rushed from one end of his apartment to the other to answer the phone before missing the call.

"You done acting like a caveman yet?" she asked.

He snickered a bit. "Just about."

"Good because I'm gonna let you take me out," she announced.

"You are, huh?" he said through a smile on the other end of the phone.

"And I don't just want dinner," she said firmly. "I want a movie too."

"Is that right?" he asked as his smile widened.

"And I don't mean cops or guns or sports or superheroes," she carried on. "It's got to be something thought-provoking."

"Well now you're just being mean," Elliot retorted. "So when is this da … I mean _outing_ happening?"

"I can fit you in tomorrow night," she said teasingly.

"I'll have to check my schedule but …"

"Elliot."

"I wouldn't miss it Liv. You pick the movie, I've got the restaurant, and I'll be there by 7."

"Well alright then," she said, echoing words that had previously passed between them.

"Alright then," he said. "And Liv?"

"Uh-huh."

"Thanks for giving me another shot."

"Yeah well," she said, mocking irritation with him. "Don't screw up this time."

* * *

Olivia spent a wonderful day with Noah doing nothing of any significance. They bought groceries, went to the park and hung out at home. It was exactly what she needed to shake the strain of recent weeks and put her in the right frame of mind to try again with Elliot. He showed up on time – although she'd never know he'd been stalling downstairs so not to seem overeager.

Lucy had Noah in her arms when she answered the door. Olivia emerged from the bedroom, fastening the second of her earrings. Elliot scooped up Noah and lifted him high in the air, as he spoke in a cartoon voice to him. The toddler giggled, and shoved two pudgy fingers into Elliot's mouth. Elliot pecked at the fingers and then lowered the boy so his eyes could travel across the room to his take in his mother's appearance.

"Hey Li," he offered through a crackling voice. "I mean Liv. You look great."

"Sweet talk will get you everywhere," she said, smiling as she approached him. She greeted him with a chaste kiss on the cheek, retrieved her purse, nibbled Noah's cheeks and said her goodbyes to Lucy. In mere moments they were out the door and at the car. This time Elliot made the monumental step of opening her door for her. He flashed her an innocent expression, hoping it would buffer any anger on her part for his assumptions. Much to his surprise she offered none.

He'd chosen Italian since, well, everyone likes Italian. He splurged on a bottle of wine and savored the sight of her by candlelight. He hoped like hell that the restaurant wasn't over the top. He wanted to take her someplace nice, but not so romantic that she'd be uncomfortable with his choice.

"Is this okay?" he asked, subtly waving a hand around the room.

She finished the sip of wine she was taking and lowered her glass to the table as she answered. "It's nice, El. Thank you."

The imaginary scoreboard in Elliot's head registered a point for him.

"After the way I behaved the other day, I wanted to make it up to you," he offered.

"Like I said it's nice. I haven't been out like this in … I don't even know how long." She gave him a soft smile and took another sip of wine while she studied his face.

"But since you brought it up, we need to get a few things straight," she said, sitting back in her chair and adjusting the cloth napkin on her lap.

Just when he'd been out of the woods, Elliot feared where the conversation might be headed. He gave her his full attention.

"Are you listening?" she asked firmly.

He set down his own wine glass, crossed his arms in front of him on the table and nodded that he was ready to hear whatever she had to say. He didn't expect what came out of her mouth.

"I'm not sleeping with Trevor Langan," she began. "I'm not sleeping with _anyone_. In fact if you haven't noticed, I'm not even sleeping with _you_."

Elliot couldn't resist. "I did notice that, yeah."

She skipped right over his comment and continued letting him have it. "You don't own me," she said, counting off one finger with each item on her list. "My son comes first. And _you_ ," she said jutting a finger across the table and into his left peck, "have a habit of doing really well and then completely screwing up. If I didn't know better I'd think you were sabotaging this. _Whatever_ this is."

She hadn't really raised her voice to an inappropriate level but there was no doubt from her tone that this was his final warning.

"Are you done now?" he said, well aware he was risking life and limb by taunting her.

"For now."

"Okay then, my turn?"

She simply nodded, letting him know he had the floor.

"I _know_ I don't own you, although I have, many times over the years, behaved as if I do."

She hadn't expected his admission, so she couldn't withhold the surprise that crept onto her face.

He continued. "I really have no right to know who you're sleeping with. But I will tell you that someday I'd really like it to be me."

There was no holding back the surprise now. She swallowed hard at his confession and sat there speechless.

"But I'm gonna screw up, Liv," he admitted. "Sometimes I can't help it. And I really _am_ working on getting better at a few things."

"Okay," she said softly.

"So if you think you can keep that in mind and give me some room for error, I really like this not to be the first _and_ last time I take you out."

"You know I'm busy, I can't always drop everything," she explained. "God, all the dates I canceled over the years as a detective. It's only worse in the big office."

"You don't think I know that? Christ Liv, I _know_ the job," he said. "I watched you cancel all those dates." Then he was quiet a minute before adding. "And felt like a bastard each time I was happy you did."

For the third time, she offered him a surprised expression, this time her eyes even wider. She didn't mean to make him feel self-conscious about his words, but she couldn't help the jolt that went through her when he said them.

"Elliot, I …"

"Look, don't try to pick apart what I just said. There's no hidden meaning. It is what it is, and it's the truth. Hate me for it if you want, but it's the damned truth." Then he abruptly tossed his napkin onto the table and stood. "I gotta … I'm just gonna get some air."

She watched him walk away from the table and felt like she was frozen in place. It wasn't lost on her that he'd reached deep down into himself for the courage to say what he did. She blinked back a tear from her eye and composed herself. She signaled the waiter and ordered a piece of tiramisu with two forks. He came back to the table before the dessert did, walking tentatively toward her, unsure as to whether he would find her angry or find her there at all.

"Hey," she said softly, looking up at him. "Glad you're back. I ordered us dessert."

He accepted her change of subject and her peace offering, returning the smile before settling back into his chair. They talked about anything but their evolving relationship as they split the tiramisu and waited for the waiter to take the check. "So what's this movie you're dragging me to," he teased. " _Woman in Gold_ sounds like it could be a superhero movie to me."

"Not even close," she said. "And don't even think about wiggling out of it."

* * *

While there were no car chases or shootouts, Elliot didn't think the movie was half bad. He enjoyed the view to his right even more, stealing glances at her from time to time and feeling his stomach jump when he reached for her hand and she willfully curled her fingers into his. His scoreboard lit up again.

"See, I told you you'd like it," she said, playfully slapping his shoulder as they returned to the car.

"It was alright," he said trying to downplay his appreciation for the film. "Next time I pick." He looked up at her hopefully as he unlocked the door.

"Next time, huh?" she quipped. "Yeah. I'm thinking there _will_ be a next time." She smiled almost seductively and slid into the passenger seat.

He walked around to his side of the car, throwing his eyes to the heavens in thanks for his good fortune. At the same time, the voice in his head mumbled to him, "Don't fuck this up."

* * *

In his opinion, the drive back to her place was way too short. He was again reluctant to let her go. He pushed the gear shift into park, but didn't kill the engine. He turned to her to see her smiling at him. It was that smile that gave him the courage to ask, "So do I get to kiss you goodnight?"

She may not have been aware that her eyes traveled the length of his body from his belt buckle to his eyes before she replied, "Only if you walk me up."

He caught the wanton look in her eye as he killed the engine and came around the car to let her out. She'd let him treat her like a lady all night.

Her apartment was quiet when they entered. Olivia knew Lucy was likely in the bedroom soothing Noah. She hoped to grab a few minutes with him before her dedicated babysitter emerged.

She tossed her wrap over the sofa and turned back to him. As he closed the door behind him, she turned to him, stepped close and wrapped her wrists around his neck. He was pleasantly surprised by her maneuver and wasted no time in bringing his palms to her hips. He looked at her a minute before he moved.

"So you gonna kiss me goodnight or what?" she asked with that same seductive smile on her face.

He didn't answer. He simply grumbled as he lowered his face to hers and captured her lips. She succumbed to the kiss immediately, using the tilts and turns of her head and the parting of her lips to deepen the encounter. He pressed his lips more firmly against hers and tested the tip of her tongue with his own. He could have sworn he heard her moan and couldn't repress the smile that crept onto his lips and pressed against hers. Finally he pulled away from her – a break taken for his own sake – and smiled at her. "Well goodnight then."

She smiled back. "Goodnight then," she echoed as she used her linked forearms to tug his neck back down to her and kiss him again. He tightened his grip on her hips and nudged her into the wall behind the door. After exploring her mouth, he ran his lips along her jaw and kissed along her pulse point.

She silently chided herself for lifting her chin, tossing her head back and baring the skin of her neck to him. She hadn't meant to send him such a strong message, but her body was doing the talking now.

As he moved along her neck his hands crept up her midsection until the tips of his thumbs where gliding along the underside of her breasts. She gasped at the sensation and he smiled into her neck.

"Stop, El," she said weakly. "Just … stop."

He pressed two more kisses to her neck then pulled away to see her flushed features. She wanted him. It was written all over her face. But she was applying the brakes again.

"But I wasn't done saying goodnight," he said, flashing a pouty lip at her.

"You keep that up and you'll be saying 'good morning,'" she told him.

When he waggled his eyebrows at her, she chuckled softly at him. "Seriously though, Lucy's still here so …"

Well now he felt better about it. He'd forgotten about Lucy. If she was the reason Olivia was shutting it down and not him, he was slightly more okay with that.

She moved toward the door and opened it, desperate to send him on his way so she could maintain some semblance of self control. He backed away from her, a flirtatious smile on his lips the whole way. He was driving a hard bargain, and she was weakening quickly.

"Out," she playfully shooed him. "Go."

Finally he was safely in the hallway. He couldn't get to her there, right?

"Liv?" he said, drawing out the simple syllable of her nickname.

"Hmmm." She hoped like hell that didn't come out as a moan.

"I _did_ spring for dinner _and_ a movie," he teased.

She outright laughed at his humor. "Get out of here, you ass." She peeked around the door until she couldn't see him anymore. She still had laughter on her lips when she turned back toward her sofa and saw Lucy standing in the hallway. She felt silly for feeling like a schoolgirl who'd just been caught kissing on the porch by her overbearing father.

With a wisdom beyond her years, Lucy sensed Olivia's discomfort and spoke first. "Noah's asleep. He had a good night," she said, scooping up her backpack and moving toward Olivia and the door. She placed an affectionate hand on Olivia's forearm before slipping out the door and simply said, "It's nice to see you smile."


	7. Chapter 7

Elliot was gone, Lucy had left, Noah was asleep and suddenly Olivia's apartment was deafeningly silent. She flicked off the remaining lights in the kitchen and living room and made her way toward the bedroom, removing her earrings along the way. She crept quietly into the dimly lit bedroom so as not to wake her sleeping son. Once she changed into a camisole and sleep pants, removed her makeup and brushed her teeth, she sunk into the cool, soft sheets beneath her comforter. The room fell dark except for the night light on one side she kept in case she had to tend to Noah during the night.

She lay on her back, one arm across her forehead, one resting on her belly and stared at what she could see of the ceiling until her eyes adjusted to the darkness. One long deep breath later, she tuned her ears to the soft, subtle snores of her baby boy. Nothing relaxed her more than his rhythmic breathing. Tonight Noah's sounds set the backdrop for her thoughts of Elliot.

It had been a nice night out. He hadn't screwed up, said the wrong thing, or overstepped any invisible boundaries. He'd all but come right out and told her that he'd been harboring feelings for her all these years. It wasn't as if she didn't know it to be true; it was just validating to hear him say it. And while it assured her that she hadn't been crazy in her interpretations of his movements and gestures over time, it also set her on edge - that thing she'd always kept at arm's length suddenly so near. She's spent so much time convincing herself it could never happen that she never really considered how she'd handle it if it did.

Things in her life were good. Hectic but good. She was finding a rhythm in the big office, Carisi was learning the ropes, Noah wasn't going anywhere, and the payoff from those countless appointments with Dr. Lindstrom was with her every day. She couldn't remember a time in recent memory that she'd ever felt so grounded. Then along came Elliot. She was taking every measured step to maintain balance in her life under the scrutiny of Chief Dodds, juggling the unique personalities that made up her squad, steering Rollins toward a better path, and filling the void left by Nick's move to the West Coast.

The last thing she needed right now was romantic entanglement. Quite frankly she didn't have the time or energy for it. And this thing with Elliot would be far more than casual. It wouldn't be drinks and dancing. It would be complicated and volatile and delicious all at once. It would be as tangled as the web of power cords behind every household entertainment center. And despite the fact that she had a gun locked up in the living room, she was scared as hell.

If she'd let her body make the decisions, she wouldn't be in her own bed right now. She'd have sent Lucy on her way, and she and Elliot would be a tangled mess on her sofa, covered by post-coital sweat and her chenille throw and whispering like sneaky teenagers so not to wake Noah.

She expelled another long breath and tried to clear her head. Surely he'd coming knocking again - whether it was here or on her office door - and she'd be incredibly tempted to let him in. She needed a plan to stave off the inevitable - for her own sake. She was convinced she needed to put Elliot on ice.

Finally the sheer exhaustion of talking herself out of anything more with Elliot lulled her to sleep. But not for long. She was awakened well before her alarm by Noah babbling from his crib. She wrestled her eyes open just in time to see the toddler with his fists gripping the edge of the crib and one of his chubby thighs perched over the top rail. Olivia nearly lunged, dragging the covers with her as she grabbed at the boy.

"No Noah!" He looked up at her, and his babbling stopped. His bottom lip began to quiver, his tears imminent in the wake of the urgent tone in his mother's voice. She hadn't meant to upset him, only to save him. Her sudden fear had caused her to deliver her words more forcefully than intended. She hadn't ever yelled at the boy, so he wasn't used to the harsh sound of her voice. The perpetually changing boundaries of Noah's evolving abilities were perhaps the thing in her life she felt least in control of. More and more things needed to be put away, more potential dangers removed, and more rules established in ways his young mind could understand. Police work was one thing, but motherhood was another.

Once she soothed her son's sobs, she nestled him into bed with her and felt enormously comforted by his proximity. It wasn't a habit she wanted to form, but watching him drift back to sleep with her index finger pressed into his tiny palm was exactly what she needed tonight. Figuring out new sleeping arrangements for the tiny daredevil could wait until morning.

* * *

When Lucy arrived bright and early, Olivia explained her son's newfound ability to scale the side of his crib and cautioned her against leaving him unattended at nap time. She was trying to rush a few last sips of juice and head out the door when her phone rang. It seemed that Elliot wasn't interested in waiting more than mere hours to knock again.

She took his call as she rushed to the elevator. "Hey El, what's up?"

"How's my girl today?"

Olivia rolled her eyes. "First of all, when did I become _your_ girl?"

"About 15 years ago."

Olivia couldn't help but snicker at how clever he thought he was. "A little presumptuous today, aren't we?"

"Really I was just calling to tell you what a nice time I had last night. Finally got this girl I've had my eye on to go out with me."

Fact of the matter was, as rugged as he looked, Elliot could be a dork sometimes. After all, his portfolio of romantic experience consisted only of nearly 30 years with one woman. So she gave him a pass and played along.

"Anyone I know?"

"Not sure," he continued. "But I think you'd like her. You two have a lot in common."

"Would you stop," she laughed. "I'm in a hurry right now, had a rough night, so can we talk later?"

"Not until you tell me how you had a rough night _after_ I left. Did I miss something?"

"You are relentless." She gave him the quick version of Noah's attempted acrobatics and explained that while his near accident startled her, she was more bothered by how she'd upset him with her words.

He snickered.

"You're seriously laughing right now?"

"Laughing _with_ you, not _at_ you," he clarified. "That's parenting, Liv. There will be times when you have to yell, especially when it comes to dangerous situations. It helps him understand what's not safe. Don't beat yourself up."

"But it's the first time I've ever …"

"And it won't be the last," Elliot offered. "He's gonna climb the furniture, eventually get too close to the street, put something in his mouth he shouldn't. You're not being mean. You're being a mom."

Elliot's sage advice on parenting was strangely soothing. It was just what she needed to allay her guilt.

"Yeah … well … sometime between cases and court today I have to find time to buy a toddler bed. Won't be able to close my eyes otherwise."

"You'll figure it out, Liv."

* * *

Although she didn't revisit the previous night during the conversation, she did thank him for the encouragement before cutting the call short to get to work. She was running on abbreviated sleep and a weary mind, so that last person she needed to see today was Ed Tucker. When she pushed through the door of her office with her files and bag in tow, sure enough it was him making himself comfortable on her leather couch.

"What the hell do _you_ want?"

Yes, she'd said that out loud.

"Good morning to you too, sergeant," replied he squad's long-time snarky, salt-and-pepper-haired nemesis.

"I'm pretty sure the sight of you means it won't be a good morning for long," Olivia offered as she set down her belongings. "On another witch hunt I suppose?"

"See now, that's a shame," Tucker said, rising from the couch and slipping his hands into his pockets as he approached her. "Why do you always assume I come bearing bad news."

"Well let's see ...," she began, very well prepared to fire off a litany of vicious attacks he'd launched on her and the squad over the years, unfounded as they were.

"Okay, okay," he said, raising his palms to stop her before he even started. "Today I bring some advice."

She eyed him skeptically as she removed her coat and hung it in the rack. "Is that right? And that would be?"

"Start studying for the lieutenant's exam," Tucker blurted out.

Olivia scrunched up her face briefly in confusion. "And why is that?"

"One PP isn't happy with just a sergeant in here," he explained. "So unless you want to transfer out - which I assume you don't because I've always made you for a lifer …"

"You assume correctly … for once," she said with a smirk. "Would you look at that - the obvious doesn't _always_ elude you."

Strangely enough Tucker didn't take the bait. "Get certified and maybe you get lucky enough to stay in this office."

Olivia was intrigued by and suspicious of Tucker's uncharacteristic alliance. "And how is it that you know this? More importantly, why are you telling me this?"

"Just looking out for you, Sergeant."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Since when?"

"Take it or leave it." He just smiled smugly then moved toward the door. "Have a nice day," he said, slipping out and closing the door behind him.

Olivia stood stunned. Something wasn't right. The Ed Tucker she knew and had come to despise over the years didn't give advice or do favors. He'd tried to take her shield and her freedom several times and had even endangered Cassidy's life. Yet here he was making nice. She thought for sure sleep deprivation must be playing tricks with her mind.

* * *

Somehow, some way she made it to court on time, much to Barba's delight. Rollins happened to show up on time this morning too, so the day clicked into place. But before she knew it, dusk was settling over the city and she hadn't done a damned thing to address Noah's sleeping arrangements. Then again the thought of spending another night snuggled up with him was comforting. There weren't many sources of that elusive emotion in her life so she decided to indulge herself and save her trip to the store for the weekend.

She entered her apartment quietly, careful not to rattle her keys too much when she set them on the side table and dropped her bag on the floor nearby. Lucy looked up from her books, which were strewn across the breakfast bar. "Hey Liv, I wasn't sure when you'd been home so I gave him his bath."

Olivia sighed. She hated missing bath time, as it provided the perfect opportunity for play and interaction with her young son. "I meant to call but I was rushing to get out of the office and ..." She stopped mid-sentence when it finally dawned on her that Noah was not in the living room with Lucy. "I thought I told you not to leave him unattended in his crib."

"I didn't, Liv," Lucy said. "He's fine."

"But ...," the new mom began to protest.

"He's all tucked away in his bed, safe and sound."

Olivia was as confused now as she was with Tucker's advice. "His bed? What bed?"

"The one your friend Elliot brought," Lucy replied. When Lucy saw no recognition register on Olivia's face, she stammered. "You didn't know? I'm so sorry, Liv. He said you knew."

Olivia walked to the bedroom, slowly opening the door to the dimly-lit room. There in the spot previously occupied by his crib, Noah was sleeping soundly in race car-themed toddler bed, outfitted perfectly with race car sheets. She couldn't help but smile at the cute setup and how there was even a safety bar attached so Noah couldn't roll off the edge. Olivia was stunned. She inhaled deeply as a smile spread across her face. She was filled with gratitude and relief. And something else.

Lucy came into the room then. "See, all safe and sound," she whispered.

"I see that," Olivia said, patting the babysitter's arm. "Sorry I doubted you."

Olivia waved Lucy back out of the room and pulled the door closed. The two women retreated to the living room to continue their conversation. As Lucy gathered her books into her backpack, Olivia questioned her about Elliot's special delivery. Lucy explained that he'd shown up before lunch with a large box on a dolly and said he was doing Olivia a favor by assembling the new bed she'd ordered for Noah. By the time they'd returned from their midday walk to the park, the bed was assembled and outfitted. Elliot even asked for the keys to Olivia's basement storage space, where he'd taken Noah's crib. He'd handled everything, right down to the accent pillow shaped like an overstuffed wheel.

Olivia was overwhelmed by the gesture. He'd taken such a weight off her shoulders in the most caring of ways. Yet he'd done a very invasive thing by coming into her home, her bedroom unannounced. He'd lightened her load but also crossed another invisible boundary. She didn't even want to think about the money he'd spent on her son. She chided herself for feeling conflicted about such a generous act of kindness. Maybe she just felt guilty for missing another milestone in Noah's life. His jump to a big boy bed had happened while she was at work ... again.

She decided to put her own boundary issues on the back burner when she called Elliot to thank him.

"El ... I don't know what to say," she began.

"You don't have to say anything," he assured her. "You needed help, and I was able to lend it."

"But I didn't ask you to ..."

"Liv, you didn't have to ask. I could hear it in your voice this morning. I was happy to do it."

"At least tell me what you spent," she insisted. "I want to repay you."

"You don't owe me a thing," he said softly. "Just let me do this for you and don't worry about it."

"You didn't just lend me a cup of flour here, El. This was a big deal."

"It's the kind of thing you do for someone you care about," Elliot said. Then he paused, letting the implication of his words hang over their brief silence. "And whether you like it or not, I care about you ... and Noah too."

There really was no point in arguing. And no reason to. A younger, more stubborn Olivia would have fought tooth and nail before accepting such a huge favor. But now she was a single mom with a very limited support system when it came to Noah. This was the kind of thing a grandparent might do if she had any such relatives to offer her son. Caregivers came in unconventional packages in Olivia's world, perhaps in the shape of former partners who inevitably develop into something more. She had to swallow her reservations and graciously accept Elliot's heartfelt gesture. It didn't mean she owed him anything more than friendship, something she'd always been willing to give him.

She offered a sigh of acceptance. "This was a huge help, El. Thank you. I'm not sure how else to say it."

"You already did," he said. "Now tell me about the rest of your day."

* * *

It was about mid-morning the next day – a day that began a little more peacefully than the one before – when Elliot showed up unannounced in the squad room again.

It's not that Olivia didn't want to see him; it's just that she couldn't give him her undivided attention. And it was becoming more and more difficult to explain his presence each time. Fin needed no explanations; he'd seen enough over the years to know the former detective wasn't here to discuss the Zachary Scott case or drop off old notes. Carisi was relatively clueless, but Rollins continued to fire off knowing looks. The obvious often eluded men, but women always knew. The same way Olivia knew Rollins' days with Amaro didn't end when they clocked out.

She tugged off her glasses and gave him a disappointed smile when he entered. She wasn't sure how he was holding down a job when he was always showing up here or dropping in at her apartment midday to rearrange the furniture. He didn't seem to be getting the message that she was commanding officer and couldn't always spare time for unplanned lunches or lengthy conversations with him. And giving him her undivided attention would mean more dates, and more dates would mean …

He stepped right up to her desk, his fingers tucked into his jeans pockets. He looked burdened. "So … something's bothering me," he threw out there.

"Okaaaay," she drew out, hardly interested in coaxing him to talk. He had the floor, but only for a few minutes.

"This thing with Tucker," he said. "Something's not right."

It was hardly what she expected him to present as today's topic. "I admit it's a bit strange but …"

"I think he wants something," Elliot interjected. "He wants _you_."

Olivia did a double-take. "Excuse me?"

"I mean who could blame him, Liv?" Elliot rambled on. "That crusty old fucker can't be real popular with the ladies."

Olivia stood and raised a palm. "El, stop. That's just … I don't even want to go there."

"He does."

Olivia rolled her eyes at the very implication. "So what if he does? It doesn't matter, and it's not your worry."

"I don't like it," he said firmly, as if his word was law. She could hear the freight train barreling down the track. She needed to nip this in the bud. She stepped slowly toward her office door and closed it as she began to speak. "Look El … I've been thinking ..."

"I should have been there," she heard him interrupt from behind her. She was sure he was referring to Tucker or even Lewis again until she turned and saw that he'd moved behind her desk and was holding the framed photo from her promotion ceremony.

She made her way over to him and slowly took the frame from his hand, as if his being in possession of the photo made the moment itself somehow less hers. "You've missed a lot," she said quietly.

"I don't know how to get that back, how to make up for it," he said, his voice tinged with sadness, regret.

"You shouldn't," she said, looking him in the eye. She paused a long moment, eyeing the photo herself while she gathered her words. "Some of these things ... you weren't _meant_ to be there." She knows the list includes surviving Lewis, becoming a sergeant and adopting Noah. "They may not have happened with you here."

Elliot looks dumbstruck at her implication. "Wow," he says, rubbing his hand along the back of his head and dropping his eyes from hers. "So you're saying ..."

"I'm not saying anything, El. I'm just telling the truth," she explained. "There are some steps I've taken that I may not have …"

"If I was around?"

"Well ... yeah," she nearly whispered. But she immediately felt bad for hurting him, so she stepped into him and grasped one of his biceps, hoping to get his full attention.

"Elliot, I will never regret our partnership, our friendship. But I was stuck in a place I couldn't get out of until …"

"I left."

She watched the sadness settle in his eyes. She wasn't trying to give him only bad news. There was good in there too and he needed to know it. "Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you or are you gonna make me say it?"

He took a crack at breaking her code. "And you're saying that now ... _even now_ ... I'm holding you back?"

"I never said that," she clarified. "And I don't think that. I'm just being cautious."

"What exactly is it that you think I'm trying to do to you, Liv?"

"You don't have to try," she said, stepping away slightly and lowering her eyes as a loaded smile pierced her lips. Her voice was soft and raspy when she continued. "You do things to me without even trying." She peered at him, hoping to hammer home her point without saying another word.

"Oh," he said, searching any hints on her face that would shed more light on her words. Then it hit him. Finally. "Oh. Oooooohhhhh."

She couldn't help but smile both in relief and at exactly how surprised he was that without actually saying the words, she'd managed to tell him that she had feelings for him, that she'd _always_ had feelings for him.

His expression softened, and she could have sworn that somewhere under his bull-headed exterior she saw him blink back tears.

"Jesus, Liv," he breathed, cupping her face and pressing his mouth to hers. As their lips moved, she grasped at his bicep and looped her left hand inside his jacket and melded into the kiss. He pulled back and pressed his forehead against hers, still holding her face in his hands.

"Me too, Liv. Me too."

"I know," she barely whispered. "Finding that out for myself ... with you gone ... hurt like hell."

He closed his eyes, subconsciously trying to block out yet another reference to the pain he'd caused with his careless departure. "I'm here now. Let me love you, Liv."

 _No._

It was a thought in her head, not a word on her lips. His hands, his breath, his body all invading her space, and she couldn't utter the single syllable banging around in her brain.

She let him lift her and carry her backwards a step until she was on top of her desk and he was hovering over her, pressing her laptop closed as he nudged her into an increasingly reclined position. She grasped at the lapels of his leather jacket as if she was holding on for dear life. Her lips defied her mind as well, dancing over his, parting to let him in. Her ears had managed to drown out the din of the bustling squad room just outside her door.

When his left hand slipped behind her knee, her leg – surely by some power of its own - lifted and perched high on his hip as he stepped closer to her desk, the denim of his jeans grating between the seams of her dress slacks.

 _Please El, she pleaded silently. Don't move your hips. Please._

While her body succumbed, her mind wrestled with how they always ended up having confrontations in this office, home to so many alliances in their past life together. And while they were no longer arguing or hurling verbal jabs at one another, they were still fiercely locked in battle. Even as he fingers wrapped around his neck and secured his mouth to hers, her brain was telling her to push him off of her. Even if she did want him - and she _did_ want him - this was hardly the place or time.

When his lips left hers and made their way along her jaw and down her neck, she fought to remain in touch with the indignation of five years without him. No one in her shitty life had hurt her more. She fought the internal battle still as his hand left her leg, smoothed up her hip and ribcage, then closed around her breast. _That_ battle must have been why she whimpered; _not_ that _this_ moment here on _this_ desk in _this_ office had _ever_ been the backdrop for fantasy.

She fought valiantly, but even she knew she was losing. She was prepared to surrender, to throw in the towel at the very moment his fingers closed around the top button of her blouse and his hips surged forward. But as any good sergeant should, she had reinforcements, an out she didn't anticipate but nonetheless appreciated. The tap, tap, tap of Carisi's knuckles on her door brought their heated encounter and her internal battle to a screeching halt.

"Fuck," Elliot huffed over her as he reluctantly extracted his lips from her collarbone. She pushed back against him, urging him to return to a standing position. He was positively flustered and frustrated.

"I need a minute, Carisi," she bellowed in an attempt to buy time. "Be right out."

She rose up to a seated position on her desk, fixed her clothes and took in his red face, heavy breaths and dark eyes. "It's … uh … it's for the best, El." She hoped she'd sounded more convincing than she felt.

"Yeah, I guess," he said with more disgust than resolve.

He straightened his shirt, zipped his jacket in an attempt to conceal his arousal and motioned with his head toward the other door that led out of her office and through an interrogation room. "It okay if I ...?"

"Yeah, go that way," she motioned as she ran her hands through her hair.

He squeezed her knee then stepped toward the door.

"El?"

"Yeah?"

"We'll talk okay?"

He nodded a half smile and slipped away.

Olivia smoothed her hands down her blouse, took a deep breath, then opened the door to see an overzealous Carisi there with a file in his hands.

"You okay in here, Sawge?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," she offered. "Just fine."


	8. Chapter 8

In the days following their near indiscretion in her office, he sent several suggestive texts offering affirming reflections about her lips, her body, their unfinished business. The whole encounter had left her conflicted. Her body wanted more and maybe her heart did too. But she was in the habit of letting her brain lead the way these days. Still he persisted, dropping endless hints that he wanted to see her again, wanted to finish what they'd started.

She did too. She wanted his hands and mouth on her and his ... _God_ she couldn't think about that. She'd allowed David Haden and Brian Cassidy into her bed, at first to wipe away the desires she'd had for Elliot. Eventually she'd let them into her heart because she longed to be taken care of for once, to restore the trust that Elliot had ripped away when he left.

And here she was five years later, those same deeply buried feelings awakened in her by his compelling arguments and convincing lips. She'd left the door open when she'd admitted her feelings to him that day in her office, and it wasn't fair to let him think those feelings were leading somewhere. And if she wanted him to stop tempting her via text message, she needed to reestablish the boundaries they'd obliterated. So she invited him to dinner. Surely he'd think it would end in her bed, while she intended for it to end in mutual understanding.

As he stepped into her apartment, he kissed her deeply and without hesitation. He'd intended for it to be the kiss of two people who'd so recently had their hands on one another. But while she didn't refuse him, she kept him in check, pulling away when he tried to introduce his tongue.

He saw Noah on the floor behind her and assumed she was keeping it PG for his sake. He went straight for the baby, getting down to his level and spinning the wheels on one of the toddler's toy cars. They went back and forth a few minutes making _zoom zoom_ and _vroom vroom_ noises at one another. Noah put his pudgy palm over Elliot's mouth and giggled heartily at the vibrations of his lips. Of course Elliot did it again and again, eliciting more belly laughs from the tiny boy.

Finally Olivia beckoned them both to the table for dinner. They interacted with the baby, talked shop and discussed the outcome for little Bruno, the severely neglected 4-year-old whose case had blown the lid off of corruption in the city's child services division. They talked about Eli, and Elliot inquired about how Noah was doing in his big boy bed.

"Thank you again for all of that," Olivia said. "And since you built it, when he's done with his dinner, you can get him all tucked in. _But_ no more blowing raspberries on his hand or he'll never go to sleep."

Elliot leaned close to Noah and whispered loudly, "What she doesn't know won't hurt her, buddy." Noah giggled more at Elliot's expression than his words. She couldn't help but smile at the two of them conspiring together. Since Amaro had moved to California, Noah hadn't had much guy time. Elliot had such a way with her son, and it outright terrified her. She cleared her throat and pushed back from the table. "So I'll get these dishes cleaned up then while you guys get ready for bed."

Elliot's eyebrows flew upwards and he smiled mischievously. She smacked his shoulder playfully. "I mean while the _big_ boy gets the _little_ boy ready for bed."

Elliot scooped Noah out of his high chair and off they went to scrub his dinner off his face and get him changed into his jammies. Olivia cleared the table, rinsed the dishes and was loading the dishwasher when Elliot returned from the bedroom. He came up behind her, laid his palms on her hips and leaned in to kiss her neck. She felt his front pressed against her back, and she nearly dropped the last glass she was rinsing. She was incredibly tempted to let him roam, let him have his way with her, to finally go where they'd never been.

As he suckled her neck and pressed against her, she finally forced her eyes open, set the glass down and shut off the water.

"El."

"Mmmm," he mumbled against her neck.

God this was hard. And if she wasn't mistaken, he was too.

"Elliot."

"Hmmm?"

She laid her hands over his on her hips and pulled his fingers off of her. At the same time, she ducked slightly and turned to move away from his relentless mouth.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Let's um ... let's not do that okay?" she said. "We need to talk."

When his body language and expression changed, she assumed it was because she'd halted his advances ... again. But there was more on his mind.

"Is it Dodds?" His simple question was asked partly in concern and partly in confrontation.

Her expression was one of complete confusion and she looked at him like he'd lost his mind. _"What?_ _"_

"I told you I'd do my best to keep the jealousy thing in check," he explained. "To not lay claim to what isn't mine."

She was listening and she knew there was more. "But ...?"

" _Is_ it Dodds? What's going on with him?"

She snickered at him. " _Nothing's_ going on with Dodds. What the _hell_ , Elliot?"

"You got all dressed up and went out with him," he continued. "And now you don't want me to touch you."

She was well on her way to outrage. "Wait ... how did you know ... were you _following_ me?"

"Christ no, Liv," he answered. "You guys were on the news that night, you in that damned dress and him like a lion licking his chops."

"Stop! Just stop!" she barked at him. "We've had this conversation so many times, and I'm beyond over it."

As far as she was concerned, the department dinner she'd attended with Dodds was _not_ a date, not even close. She wasn't entirely sure Dodds felt the same way, but she wasn't going to tell Elliot that.

She paced a little, her hands on her hips. "Why is it you think every man I know wants to take me to bed?"

"You really _are_ clueless sometimes," he told her. "Do I really have to spell it out for you, Olivia?" He delivered her full first name with a sharp tongue.

He scoffed and turned away. The tension in the room was downright tangible. "God Liv, what happened the other day," he continued. "I can't stop thinking about _that_."

She was quick to dismiss it, hoping like hell he couldn't see through her lie. "We got carried away. We shouldn't have been doing that, not in my office."

His tone was not kind when he said, "Well, we're _not_ in your office right now, _are we_?"

She found the urge to smack him overwhelming, even more so than the lure of his hands moments ago. "That doesn't mean this is headed where you seem to think it is," she said much more calmly than she felt. "That's not why I asked you over here."

He scrubbed his hands over his face and sat down hard in the same chair where he'd eaten dinner, physical and emotional frustration consuming him. "Fine Liv, why _did_ you ask me here?"

They'd been brutally dishonest with one another over the years. There weren't outright lies; but rather crimes of omission too numerous to count. But they'd made revelations recently that transcended the barriers they'd carefully constructed around their partnership. If they were going to salvage their friendship in spite of the gnawing romantic undertones, now was the time to put it all out there.

She was quiet a minute, waiting for the tension in the room to dissipate. "El, please come here and sit down." She patted the couch cushion next to her. He was stubborn and wasn't quite done with their disagreement yet, but he did as she asked.

She tucked her hair behind her right ear and began, "I'm going to be more honest with you right now than maybe I've ever been."

Certainly he welcomed her honesty, but he also feared her ominous tone. Still he motioned with an open palm to her, effectively giving her the floor.

She swallowed hard then continued. "I'm done denying it, lying about it. I feel something for you. I have for a long time," she said, punctuating her words by pressing a finger into his thigh. " _Not_ Dodds. _Not_ anyone else you're convinced is courting me. _You."_

He attempted to remind her that he felt the same way. "And you know I ..."

She raised a palm to stop him. "Please just let me finish. You've been pretty clear that you'd like to pursue that."

He nodded.

"Elliot, as much as I'd like to, I'm just not in a place to do that right now. Not with you. Not with anyone. No matter how I feel, I _can't_ add any complications at this point."

He wasn't buying it. "That's a cop out."

She'd hoped being honest with him would be enough. "That's not fair. All those years you weren't in a position to look into what ... _whatever_ this is ... and I had to respect that."

"It's not that I didn't _want_ to," he argued. "I was _married_."

She was scrubbing her own hands over her face now, becoming increasingly indignant. "Yeah, I remember."

"It's _not_ the same thing," he nearly hollered, quieting himself mid-sentence so not to wake Noah.

"I have so many responsibilities at work, we're short-staffed," she continued. "I'm trying to be everything I can for Noah. I've got to look after _my_ family now."

He turned away in frustration. "What does that even mean? I don't understand _why_ you think I would hurt you and that baby. What have I ever done to you ...?"

"You left."

She'd blurted it out and wished immediately that she hadn't. But after all, it was the very heart of the matter.

He was frustrated and headed for furious. He was ready to lash out, maybe say things he didn't mean and couldn't take back later. Somehow he managed to keep his mouth shut and emotions in check.

"Okay Liv," he said sarcastically. "Thanks for the insight." Then he stood, pushed past her knees, grabbed his jacket and left, nearly slamming the door behind him. He'd moved so quickly that she didn't even get a chance to call after him, to stop him.

Olivia sighed heavily, pushed her hair away from her face and plopped back against the couch cushions. She stared at the door he'd slammed behind him, but she knew no amount of staring at it would bring him back through it. Not tonight.

This was not how she'd intended it to go. He acquiesced to her every demand to this point, so maybe she couldn't expect him to give her this too. Ironically, while she'd begun the evening with the intent of pushing him away, she now wasn't sure she'd ever get him back.


	9. Chapter 9

Terrance Reynolds was dead. And so was a rookie cop. No matter who was wrong, there were no rights. Not today. Barba had called her on the carpet, forcing her to toe the line between procedure and negligence. Sometimes "by the book" wasn't enough because, sometimes, the book was wrong. And in her first weeks as a lieutenant, she'd already had to search her soul. The answers weren't there. She wondered if, in the epidemic of cops shooting young black men, answers were anywhere.

Quite frankly her head and her heart couldn't take anymore today. And for the first time since Judge Linden had changed her world forever, she wasn't sure going home to Noah was enough. Dusk had taken over the city outside the 16th Precinct, yet Olivia lacked the energy to even rise from her desk chair and call it a day, as the rest of her squad had done at her behest. She pulled her glasses from her head and plopped them on the desk in front of her, sighing deeply before she swiped her cell phone to life. Her fingers moved slowly as she typed a text message.

 _Hey. You busy?_

She hit send then sunk back in her chair to wait for a reply. She wasn't sure where she stood with Elliot these days, since his hasty departure from her apartment. Strangely enough, for the first time since he'd wedged his way back into her life, he hadn't responded immediately to an attempt by her to reach him. In fact, he'd done most of the reaching out to this point. But not recently and not tonight. She chalked it up to the kind of day she was having. If any damned thing went right today it'd be the first.

Finally she rose, grabbed her things, killed the lights and headed for the elevator. She pulled her cell from her coat pocket and checked one more time for a return text while she waited. Still nothing. After months of repeatedly texting and calling him - all with no reply - following his departure from the job and her life, she silently vowed to never chase him or anyone else again. But tonight, for a reason she chose not to label, she needed something, and she was certain it was him. So as the elevator car announced its arrival with a hollow ding, she made another attempt at reaching him. This time she called, and this time he answered.

"Hey Liv," he said, sounding slightly out of breath. "Just got out of the shower and saw your text."

Her eyes slipped shut in relief. She wasn't proud of herself for being so needy but still, "Are you ... uh ..."

"Dropped Eli at Kathy's on the way home. So, no, I'm not busy. Wanna get some dinner?"

"I need your help," she hesitated. "But I don't feel like going out tonight."

"Alright then. I can come over."

She was quiet while she considered the current state of her apartment. It wasn't the clutter of baby paraphernalia that made her hesitate. It was the baby himself. "Would you mind … I mean if it's not a problem … could I come to your place?"

Elliot was surprised at her request but perfectly willing to oblige it. "Yeah, sure, that's fine. But I didn't cook tonight so ..."

She wasn't interested in excuses or disclaimers. "Elliot," she was firm, "just give me the address."

He did, and after turning her wrist over to check her watch, she abruptly ended the call with "I'll be there in 40 minutes."

Elliot stood drip-drying on his hardwood floor staring at his phone as the screen dimmed to dark. Olivia had never been to his place in Brooklyn, and he hadn't heard her sound this way in a long time. It wasn't the seemingly strong Olivia he'd come to know in recent weeks, the one who told him they couldn't be more than they were. Ironically since she'd allowed him back into her world, he hadn't invited her into his. There was no time like the present.

He hustled to the bedroom and threw on jeans and a clean T-shirt. Then he made a hurried pass around the apartment, tossing Eli's scattered toys into a corner basket, loading the dishwasher, and quickly tidying the bathroom, wiping away the steam from his shower. He put a few beers into the fridge to cool then sunk into the sofa and switched on the evening news while he talked himself out of building Olivia's impromptu visit into anything more than it was.

When he'd answered the phone with one hand while holding his bath towel around his waist with the other, he'd felt a little twinge of guilt. For it was mere moments earlier that he'd been thinking of her as the warm water pounded his body. He'd pressed his left palm against the shower wall and grasped himself with his right as he relived what little had happened on her desk and imagined all that hadn't and maybe never would. It didn't take long really. It never did. So when he'd rushed to answer the phone and saw her name on the digital display, he was flooded momentarily by the irrational fear that she'd read his mind.

As the evening news offered the horrid developing details of the shooting death of a rookie NYPD patrolman, he sighed heavily and let his head lull back against the couch cushion. He'd only just closed his eyes when the buzzer rang. He knew it was ridiculous that the sound signaling her arrival should flood his body with adrenaline, but he couldn't keep it from happening.

He shuffled barefoot to the buzzer then opened the door to await the moment she'd inevitably step off the elevator and make his heart pound even harder. His anticipation was replaced with concern the moment he saw her. She was still the smoldering brunette with the smoky eyes and ample curves. But she looked so tired, so damned defeated. She no sooner crossed the threshold than she stepped right into his embrace and laid her head on his shoulder. She'd moved with no calculation but instead with a kind of desperation that made him sure the 13 miles and 40 minutes it had taken her to get here must have been hell.

"Jesus Liv," he whispered, laying a palm on her head and relaxing his body so she could fit into all his nooks and crannies.

"I need your help," he heard her mutter against his chest.

"Alright," he said stepping back from the door, pulling her with him then extending a foot to kick the door closed. "Tell me what's wrong."

She pressed her palms into his chest and pushed herself slightly away from him, enough that she could look him in the eye. She fingered the V-neck on his T-shirt as she spoke. "You've seen what's going on right?" He followed the motion of her hand toward the TV.

"Yeah, it's awful," he said, gently tugging at her elbow and steering her toward the couch to sit down. "You want something, maybe a beer?"

A beer actually sounded great right now so she accepted his offer. He glanced back at her as he made his way into the kitchen and retrieved the beers. "What happened with the grand jury yesterday?" he asked. He already knew they'd elected to indict three officers in the Reynolds shooting, but he was more concerned with how her testimony had gone.

She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees and used a thumb and forefinger to knead her temple and stave off an impending tension headache she was sure would split her in two. "It was bad," she said, taking her uncapped beer from him and taking a swig. "Barba did his job, but I had to do mine."

"We've seen a lot of bad things on this job," she continued, and he nodded in agreement. "But I can't remember feeling so torn as with this case."

"How so?" He encouraged her to keep talking, to let it out.

"With rape or abuse, it's easy to define what's right and wrong," she explained. "But with Reynolds and now this young cop," she said, swiping the remote off his coffee table and taking the liberty of turning off his TV, "it's not so easy to choose sides."

He studied her face. "And this time you're _supposed_ to be on one side, but the other side has a point too? This thing that seems to be so much about black and white is anything but?"

She smiled slightly at him, at his ability to read her. "Pretty much," she said quietly, then took a quick drink before setting her bottle on the table.

He reached over and tucked a few strands of her longer hair behind her ear. "So tell me, how can I help?

She couldn't look at him right now, at least until she collected her thoughts, so she let her eyes wander around the room, at his comfortable surroundings and the life he'd made for himself without the feminine touch of the wife he no longer had. She knew what she was going to say and had every intention of saying it. But it wasn't easy for her to relinquish her final shreds of denial and offer up what she'd been so carefully coveting.

She slapped her thighs with her palms as she rose to a standing position over him, removed her coat and laid it over the armchair next to the couch. She tucked her fingers into her pockets and eyed the floor as she paced a small circle near him. "This isn't exactly ... uh ... how I envisioned this happening," she began. "I mean _not_ that envisioning it is a habit of mine."

Elliot swallowed hard as he watched her pace, his arms spread out on either side of him along the back of the couch.

"But if the things you told me are true …" she continued, finally stopping her semi-circle, turning to face him, and getting to the point. "Do you still want me?"

He nearly laughed out loud. It may have been the most unnecessary question he'd ever heard. "Yeah, Liv," he said calmly, tapping his hands on the couch. "Yeah, I still want you."

He rose from the couch then and edged a little closer to her. "But what's changed?"

She froze a little because playing it out in her mind was a lot easier than seeing him step toward her in reality. But she pressed forward. She promised herself she would. "Elliot, I need to feel something. _Anything_ that isn't this case."

Elliot stepped to her, captured her face in his palms and smothered her lips with his, swallowing the additional words she didn't need to say. She'd come this far but really she needed him to make the final step and seal the deal. It was with great relief that she pulled her fingers from her pockets and wrapped them around the back of his head and expelled a deep breath against his mouth. His lips were urgent, and when he swept his tongue into her mouth, she was sure it was his attempt to reach in and scoop out her worry and pain.

She moaned and hummed against his mouth as she felt the fight leave her. The fight she'd put up when he'd come to the squad, when dinner at her apartment could have turned into breakfast, when a revealing conversation in her office threatened to turn into sex on her desk.

He pulled his mouth from hers momentarily, breathing heavily as he used his palms to push her hair away from her face so he could see her, really see her. What he saw was a weary body with hungry eyes. "Olivia," he said pecking her lips, "you really want ..."

"I need you," she said, punctuating her tone by pressing her eyes shut. "Please. Make me feel something else."

He reached down, took her hand and began to step past her to lead her down the hallway. She stayed firmly in place, tugging back on his hand. She nodded her head toward the sofa. "Do you … uh …, she began, her eyes scanning back and forth between his. "Do you think we could maybe stay out here? I can't stay long anyway."

She was right. This wasn't how he'd envisioned it. All those years before … and now these weeks since … and it seemed so damned anticlimactic to have her this way. But the last thing she needed was a fight over venue. That's not why she'd come here tonight.

So he softened his gaze and nearly whispered, "We can do anything you want, Liv, wherever you want."

She sat back down at the center of the sofa then slowly sank back into one corner, pulling him down toward her as she reclined. "Ouch," she muttered, reaching behind her and retrieving a Captain America action figure from between the cushions. They both chuckled as she tossed it into the coffee table. "Sorry about that," Elliot offered.

He locked the fingers of one hand with hers and used the other to brace his weight as he descended over her. Her hair splayed on the arm of the couch, and she gazed up at him as if his descending form was a blanket settling over her shivering body. Maybe it was supposed to be this way, her mind so mired that she didn't have time to contemplate, choreograph or complicate being with him. With one leg bent at the knee and the other hanging partway off the couch, she provided him a place to settle as he pressed his mouth back over hers and kissed her gently this time. She was nearly desperate though, as she overwhelmed his tender kiss with a hungry one. It was in that moment that he knew tonight she wouldn't be giving. Tonight she was taking. And he would give her what she needed.

She felt his weight settle onto her and felt her body begin to react to his proximity. Her nipples peaked below the blouse he'd just begun to unbutton. She kissed his forehead as he looked down to guide his fingers to each button. The silk blend finally fell open at the sides of her torso, revealing her heaving chest and biege lace bra. The sight of her olive skin beckoned him as he laid opened mouthed kisses along her neck, over her collarbone and down into the valley between her breasts.

Her fingertips came together on the front clasp of her bra, and she stared at him as she released the clasp and pulled the cups away to reveal her mounds. He didn't look down immediately, but when he did, a wide predatory smile consumed his lips. He tugged her badge off her belt and tossed it onto the coffee table with Captain America and the remote. Then he rose up and dragged his hands to the back of his collar and pulled his T-shirt over his head. There, now they were even.

He wanted to feel her breasts, not only with his hands, but pressed up against his chest. He didn't need to study her to know she was beautiful. Her ample mounds pressed against him and two peaked nipples raking through his patch of chest hair told him all he needed to know.

He pecked her lips then finally dropped his head to her chest, licking his way over her left nipple and rolling his eyes upward to see her face. Her eyes were closed, and she was writhing already. She scraped her nails through his short cropped hair as he crossed over and lapped at her right nipple then sunk lower on her torso, beginning to kiss his way down her abs. As he moved lower he continued to look up at her. As his vantage point dropped, his view improved, her round breasts now hovering over him. He was grateful that he'd taken the edge off earlier in the shower. Otherwise this sight alone would have finished him.

As he moved over her body, she finally began to feel, _really_ feel something more than the turmoil and tension of recent days. But she needed him to move faster and give her more. Before she could tell him so, he undid the button on her slacks and slid down the zipper. He struggled to believe he'd been granted such access and opened his mouth to confirm it. But he didn't need to.

"Don't stop," she breathed at him.

As he locked his fingers into both sides of her waistband and rose up on his knees, he saw the smooth skin of her lower abdomen come into view, followed quickly by the sheen of her matching beige silk underwear. She pushed and he pulled to bring her slacks down her legs. While he focused on removing her boots so he could get her pants completely off, she skimmed her fingertips through the short hairs along his stomach to reach the button on his jeans. She lowered the zipper just before he settled back over her. He shifted his weight slightly to the right and back of the sofa as he enveloped her right breast in his palm, thumbing at her nipple and grinding his pelvis against her bare thigh.

She could feel him through the denim, a prospect she hadn't felt in the nearly two years since she'd split with Brian. Two years wasn't that long really, considering longer periods of celibacy had marked her partnership with Elliot, _because_ of Elliot. And it certainly didn't seem that long when she knew he had waited much longer.

She was about to urge him along again, let him know he was moving too slow, when she finally felt him press the first three fingers of his left hand over her panties and begin to rub her. This was the touch she'd waited those 40 minutes for, the touch she'd waited years for. She didn't want to think about the case or about how much time had passed since she'd first developed feelings for Elliot. She didn't want to mark each monumental movement in memory. Not tonight. She arched up slightly under him and began to push her own underwear down. He was taken aback by her urgency. He wanted to discover her slowly, but she wasn't having it.

"Hang on, Liv," he protested. "We'll get there."

"I don't want to wait," she said firmly.

He pulled her underwear from her ankles and shifted his body lower between her legs, ready to taste her, to please her. Again she stopped him.

"That's not what I need tonight," she said, pressing against his shoulders before his mouth made contact.

He sighed deeply, almost in frustration, then rose to a seated position on the couch, her legs falling across his lap. She was sure she'd offended him.

"El, I'm sorry," she said, beginning to sit up and reunite her body with his.

"Shhh," he said, pressing two fingertips to her lips to quiet her. "Then tell me. Tell me what you need."

She leaned in and kissed him then whispered against his mouth. "I need to feel you. _All_ of you."

He rose up slightly then and tugged his open jeans and briefs down his hips and thighs until they were bunched just above his knees. Like him, she chose not to look down immediately, although she couldn't help but see him bob free in her periphery. He wrapped one arm around her hip and his other behind her other knee and pulled her toward him. She settled over him in a straddling position and rested her wrists on his shoulders. He took her hand in his and brought it to his pelvis, encouraging her to wrap her fingers around him. He watched her fingers move a moment then returned his palms to her face and kissed her.

"Take what you need, Liv. Whatever you need."

If she gave the moment the consideration it deserved she might rethink it. She might ponder all the reasons she shouldn't be here, be nearly naked, be with him. So she didn't. She grasped him in her right hand and moved her hips over him. She pressed her left hand into his shoulder to brace herself as she settled over his tip.

He'd do this and the rest of it her way, but he demanded one thing. "Look at me, Olivia."

She opened her eyes and met his momentarily before she lowered her weight and let him slip inside her for the first time. She trembled at the intrusion, her body finally wracked with a different feeling than it had been for days. As every smooth centimeter of her slid over him, he flexed his abs and committed every nuance of her face to memory. When she settled all the way onto him, she couldn't hold his gaze any longer. Her eyes slammed shut as she allowed herself a mere moment's revelry that Elliot was finally inside her. She needed him to take up the space inside her, to snuff out the pressure, the tension, the politics, the pain.

He didn't get to ask her if she was okay before she started moving slowly over him. She began by rolling her hips at first, nestling him even more firmly into place. The thought that he belonged there swept through her head, but she refused to let it linger. Instead she grasped his strong shoulders with both palms and used his body as leverage to move her own. She moaned as she began to rise and fall on him. He let her move, let her set the pace, let her decide. Her world was raging out of control, but at least he could give her this.

He was determined to make this about her. Not about him, not even about them. But he had to take a little something for himself so he lowered his mouth and suckled and licked at her breasts bobbing before him, throwing his eyes upward to see her face as he did. It made her moan louder, made her move faster. He hadn't moved much to this point, merely grasping at her hips and letting her do the work. He wanted to give her what she needed and he knew damned well that she was the best person to decide what that was.

She leaned into him, wrapping her arms around him, her body tight against his. She shuddered some and, while he first thought it was in pleasure, her staccato breaths in his ear told him she was crying. He tensed immediately and pulled her face from his shoulder so he could see her. "Am I hurting you? What's wrong?"

"No please don't stop," she told him, then collapsed back against him. "Help me, Elliot. Help me get there."

She was tired, exhausted, spent, but still hanging in mid air. He wrapped his arms tightly around her and lifted her slightly. Then he began to thrust upwards, to drive up into her for the first time. She yelped in his arms but gripped him tighter.

"Oh God yes, like that," she told him.

He pulled her face down to his and began a punishing pace with his hips. His efforts seemed to re-energize her as she began to rise and fall again, coming down onto him as he pressed up into her. He grasped her hips and swung her body away from his slightly. She dropped her hands from his shoulders and braced them behind her on his knees. She arched backwards, her breasts swaying before him as he bucked upwards. This angle was different, and she could feel him rubbing along her front wall, the sensation building with each pass. He curved his palms over her thighs and brought the pads of both thumbs to her folds, watching as he disappeared into her wetness.

Her head darted upward and her eyes went wide as his thumbs pressed against her bundle of nerves. She wasn't sure how he knew what to do to her body, but he knew. The look on her face and the sounds falling from her mouth told him he'd made the right move. He began moving the pads of both thumbs in opposing circles, and he could feel her begin to tighten around him.

"It's all good, Liv" her told her. "I've got you." Her eyes slammed shut and she stilled, almost unable to move as the sensation consumed her. He took over then, keeping the pace with his hips and his thumbs as she cried out above him. She didn't form words then, only moans as she shuddered. A smile spread across his face as he watched her tremble in his arms, his cock sliding in and out of her wetness. He circled his thumbs more quickly to draw it out for her, stealing his eyes away from her face momentarily to suck a nipple into his mouth. She shuddered hard again then fell forward against him.

He was still then, still inside her, letting her have the moment. When she finally opened her eyes and met his, he spoke.

"Good?" he asked, still smiling at the expression on her face.

"Good," she offered breathlessly from behind sleepy sated eyes.

"Okay then," he warned. "Hang on."

He'd wanted to give her complete control. And now that she'd taken some satisfaction from his body, he wanted a moment of his own. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and went for a brief ride as he rose, turned them, and laid her back down on the couch under him. He pushed his pants and underwear completely off, then braced himself on his hands at either side of her head as he awkwardly asked, "Where should I ... I mean ... should I?"

She gazed at him, her fingertips caressing his ears when she answered. "I want to feel everything."

He grumbled at her request, her piercing gaze, her low sultry voice and her body all around him. Then he pushed into her again, and she gasped at his reentry. He rolled his own hips now, not thrusting quickly but deeply. She was sensitive from her orgasm and felt the subtle aftershocks as his head thumped against her cervix.

"It's so good," she cooed.

He couldn't argue. He was sure there couldn't be much better than this, than her. He drank her in, around him, under him. He pushed through her twice more before his orgasm grabbed hold and he stilled inside her, grunting as he came. Her eyes slipped closed as she felt the vaguely familiar warmth inside her.

He was spent. She huffed underneath him, trying to catch her own breath. He pushed into his palms again and lifted his upper body off of her. Her fingertips danced along his rib cage.

"You okay?" he breathed.

She only smiled, but as he looked down at her the smile widened and reached into her eyes. He couldn't help but smile back. He slipped slowly out of her body and returned to a seated position on the couch. He pulled her up and against him. The moment was surreal. Plenty of times he'd imagined having sex with Olivia. But he hadn't imagined far enough ahead to the moment _after_ he'd had sex with Olivia and held her nearly naked body against his. That's the moment he was living in.

For a while they just breathed. There wasn't much to say or much that could be said that was worthy of the moment. He didn't want to say the wrong thing so he decided to say nothing at all until she spoke. He was quietly affectionate, holding her close and stroking her hair. He could feel her breathing settle and slow so he knew he would soon get some indication of her mindset.

Her body was warm and her eyes tired. She was satisfied and terrified all at once. She was smart enough to know – reminding herself even on the way across the bridge –that this wouldn't be just sex or merely a physical interlude. But dammit she wished that's all it was. It's why she'd kept it on the couch and why she'd refused to utter his name when she shook in his arms.

She wasn't sure how to extract herself from the situation. And she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to. But something inside her told her she should. Then she thought of Noah.

"El, I haven't seen Noah all day so ..."

"I get it, Liv. Motherhood calls." He squeezed her shoulder and pressed a firm, loving kiss to her forehead. When he released his grasp, she tried to be as tasteful as possible about gathering her clothing. She tossed his jeans and boxers to him and he put them on, zippered them but didn't bother to fasten the button.

As she tucked in her blouse and slipped her feet into her shoes, he had to ask a question that was nagging at him.

"Uh ... Liv?"

She turned to him but kept at reattaching her badge to her belt. She was fixing to make a quick exit.

He stepped close to her, his bare chest and unbuttoned jeans flooding her line of sight. Maybe he was oblivious or maybe he knew exactly what he was doing.

"This is an awkward question," he began, rubbing his hand along the back of his head in discomfort. "But ... uh ... not using anything ... that's gonna be okay?"

Her face softened when she heard his question. She found his concern endearing. She stepped up and placed her hands on his bare shoulders, giving him a sad smile. "Unfortunately El, that ship has sailed." Then she softly kissed his lips but didn't let it linger long. "Thank you for tonight." Then she grabbed her phone, her bag and went directly toward the door.

"Hey," he called after her.

She paused, her hand on the doorknob. She turned to see him smiling softly at her.

"Goodnight," he said.

She smiled, nodded, and through a throat choked by tears, whispered goodnight back to him. Then she was gone.


	10. Chapter 10

As Olivia entered the squad the next day, Fin was walking out of her office with a scowl on his face. "There's a delivery in there for you," he said, motioning with his thumb back toward her door.

Olivia stopped walking and looked up from her phone, both surprise and curiosity splashed across her face. "Oh, who from?"

Fin scrunched up his face in disgust. "You know who."

Olivia finally stepped into her office and saw a vase of colorful peonies on a corner of her desk. She sighed heavily as she cautiously removed the card and read it.

 _I'd rescue you any day - Captain America_

The smile consumed her before she had a chance to suppress it. The flowers were beautiful and the sentiment light. Elliot claimed to not have all the right moves. But the ones he'd made on her body last night and this gesture now told a far different story. It had taken them nearly 17 years to make love. And last night she had tried to keep it from even being that. She wanted to believe it was sex, good sex between two people who'd been lovers in every other way.

She used no emoticons or affectionate words when she texted to thank him for the flowers. Just a sincere thanks for his sweet gesture. She hoped he'd get the message. No such luck.

 _You're welcome_ , his text read. _And next time, let's try the bedroom._

Next time.

There couldn't be a next time. It couldn't be a habit, and it couldn't lead to a more complicated entanglement.

She simply didn't respond, in part because she didn't have an answer and in part because a case-related phone call sent her day in a different direction and left no more time to analyze her night with Elliot.

Other than thanking him via text, she avoided taking his phone calls for two straight days. She wasn't sure what to say to him and was putting off the obligatory "morning after" conversation as long as possible. She also knew he'd want to see her again, and she was fresh out of reasons why she shouldn't let him. But she also knew Elliot, which meant she couldn't avoid him for long. He was like a dog with a bone, that one.

This time she was so busy that she truly did not see him standing in her doorway, a shoulder perched on the door jamb and a cocky smile on his face.

"The flowers aren't nearly as pretty as you are," he said.

Her eyes launched upwards and her mouth fell open, both in surprise at seeing him and the fear that someone in the squad had heard his words.

"What ... what are you doing here?" she asked, suddenly uncomfortable in his presence.

"Had to see if you were as gorgeous as I remembered, as I've been picturing ..."

"Elliot stop. Please," she halted him abruptly. "Not here."

"Then let's have lunch," he suggested. "You gotta eat, and I'm buying."

She pulled off her glasses and peered through the slotted blinds out into the squad while she tried to buy time.

"I … uh ... this really isn't a good time," was all she managed.

"You know, you can't avoid me forever," he said knowingly. "And I believe I owe you a congratulatory meal over this whole lieutenant thing."

She mistakenly tried to play innocent with a man who could see right through her. "It's only been two days. And I'm _not_ avoiding you."

"Right," he offered skeptically. "So obviously you've been too busy to have a good meal. I'd say you're way past due for lunch," he added, pretending to check his invisible watch.

She huffed and stared at him. He looked so good. Jeans, leather jacket, just off work and standing here before her, challenging her yet again to deny him. To deny herself.

"Don't you have to get Eli?"

"Soccer practice til 4," he said without hesitation. "Try again."

"Work?"

"Nope. Grab your coat. Let's go, Liv."

Damn him. He was as stubborn as she was, and if she didn't get up and go eat with him, he'd stand in her doorway all day.

"Alright," she finally conceded. "But we need to go somewhere close in case something breaks."

Elliot smiled smugly at how easily he'd convinced her. He really thought she'd make him work harder for it.

As they walked out of the squad, she turned to her No. 2. "Fin?"

He waved a hand and rolled his eyes. "Yeah I know. I got it." He and Stabler exchanged a cold stare but no words.

Lunch was quick as she'd requested, sandwiches at a nearby deli they'd frequented in their past life together - before he'd left, before Noah and before the other night. She spent the time tiptoeing through their conversation and praying he wouldn't mention their tryst. He'd intentionally avoided the topic as well because he knew how her mind worked. He'd only pecked her on the lips and touched her sparingly throughout their abbreviated meal.

When he pulled up outside the precinct to let her off afterwards, he grasped for a straw, for a next time. "So how about dinner, out somewhere Friday, when you don't have to rush like this?" he asked.

"I really can't, El," she replied. "We're so busy."

"How are you doing? Feeling better ... about things?" He was asking about the Terrance Reynolds case, and he was also asking if the hour she'd spent in his arms had had the intended effect.

"That whole issue is a long away from over," she said, unintended revelations among her words. "But there's always a next case, something else that requires my attention."

"So you have none left to give me?"

"God Elliot," she huffed, bringing a flustered hand to her forehead. " _Please_ don't pressure me."

He reset himself with a deep breath. "Not my intent. I just ... I really want to see you again."

"I can't."

"Fine," he tried again. "If not this weekend, then maybe ..."

"No. I mean I _can't_. I can't see you ... like that ... _ever_." She wasn't sure how but she managed to look him square in the eye when she said it.

He was dumbfounded. "Why the hell not?"

Her argument was weak. "We had our moment, you were good to me, but that's all it can be."

He pulled away from the precinct door and parked the car 50 yards down the street so he could say what he needed to. And he chose to say it loudly.

"I was _good_ to you? So that's _it_? You got what you wanted, and that's _it_?"

"I don't know why you're so upset," she said. "You got what you wanted too, right? You wanted the sex, and you got it."

"Jesus Christ, Olivia," he huffed, bracing his palms against the steering wheel so he wouldn't punch the windshield.

"Seems to me that sex is what _you_ wanted," he accused. In reality he'd wanted much more.

She stared at him blankly, so he persisted. "Am I right?"

She lowered her head and nodded so slightly he almost missed it. Then almost in a whisper, she said, "And I needed to feel safe."

Every word out of her mouth - as few as there were - added fuel to his fire. "So which is it then? Am I safe or am I a threat? You can't have it both ways."

"You made me feel safe," she uttered meekly.

"Then why do you keep accusing me of being a threat to this new life of yours?" he continued, his voice rising. "You've set up this fortress around your perfect little world and only come out to play when _you_ feel like it."

She felt cornered now and lashed out. "Oh screw you!"

"No!"

She looked at him in near wonder.

"Other men in your world - Tucker, Dodds, even Langan - they might think I'm crazy," he continued, staring nearly through her. "But I absolutely refuse to just _screw_ you. That doesn't work for me. Not with you."

She found his choice of words ugly. "Why do you have to say it like that?"

"That's what you wanted, right?" he argued. "Well I'm not a booty call, Olivia. Not for you."

"I can't give you more," she said firmly.

"Why not? Why do _you_ get to make all the rules?"

"You made all the rules when you _left_ ," she hurled at him.

"You know what, bullshit! Just bullshit! I'm done doing my penance for that," he said furiously. "I told you what happened, I told you why. If you're gonna keep holding it over my head then ... what is it you said ... I can just disappear again!"

Olivia was stunned. She'd been calling all the shots since Elliot turned up in the squad room six weeks ago. She'd made him grovel and plead his way back into her world. Until now he hadn't raised his voice or backed her into a corner. In a strange way and at strange time, she found _this_ Elliot more intriguing.

He lowered his voice and made one last plea. "Have you ever thought for one minute that maybe I could help out with all that's happening in your life? That instead of being a problem that maybe, _just maybe_ , I'm the solution?"

"Here's the thing," she began, ready to invalidate any of the absolute truth in his statement. "It doesn't matter what you do to _me_. I've been assaulted, kidnapped, beaten. I survived Lewis, and I survived you. But like I told you, it isn't about me anymore. I can't let you hurt my son."

"What the fuck?" He was really angry now. "I would never, _never_ …

"That's _not_ what I meant, Elliot," she explained. "I mean you can't come into our lives, set up shop, then decide to leave whenever you feel like it."

He understood now, and the fact that it made sense frustrated him even more. "Are you the same person you were five years ago?"

"Hell no!" she replied quickly.

"Well neither am I," he said calmly. "For the 100th time, I _know_ I hurt you. I _know_ you deserved better than what happened. But the other thing I know is, even though I've changed, one thing _hasn't_."

She waited for him to finish, to reveal this one stalwart thing on which he was now hanging his hat.

"I love _you_. Just _you_."

She hadn't expected that. For him to come right out with it.

"And all this that's going on - the fighting, the denial, the mixed messages - I know it's because you love me too and that scares the hell out of you," he concluded.

The bastard was right. It was why she'd cried the other night when she'd left his apartment, why he was the one she'd turned to when she needed to be touched. She couldn't look at him. She was staring out the car window thinking of something, anything to say, searching for a way to deny it. But she couldn't. So instead she shut him down.

"Look El, I really need to get back."

He'd hoped his passionate plea would have broken through, but when she failed to admit her feelings and now was redirecting the conversation, he couldn't help but feel deeply disappointed in the situation and even more so in her. "Yeah, whatever."

He tapped the wheel and stared out the windshield, which was slowly being covered in new fallen raindrops. "Maybe I was way off when I said you were different now, that you were stronger," he said dismissively. "I can't believe you won't even fight for this."

Tears filled her eyes now. His words were harsh but she was crying in anger at herself, at her inability to just let herself take this step with him.

He started the car, spun it in the middle of the street and stopped closer to the precinct door. It was raining like hell now and, even though he was pissed and hurt, part of him - instinct maybe - wanted to keep her dry.

He knew she was crying, and he wanted nothing more than to hold her. But he was angry too. She'd spent so much time punishing him for hurting her that she failed to see she was the one dishing out the pain now. Tough love was still love, so he kept quiet.

While he waited for her to exit the car, she turned to him and tried to speak. "Can we talk more, some other time?" She wasn't sure what more time would do but she had so much more to say. She just needed to find the courage to say it.

He kept looking straight ahead when he answered. "Look, if you're in trouble or you need help or something, call me. But otherwise, I can't do this anymore. You either want me or you don't, and you've been pretty clear so ..."

She deserved that. She knew she did. But it didn't make it hurt any less.

"I'm sorry, Elliot. I really am." Then she got out of the car and hustled through the raindrops to the precinct door. He watched her disappear inside and, quite possibly, from his life.

* * *

Weeks went by. Olivia managed to keep her mind off of Elliot during the day. She didn't really have to try, as the demands of the job and the new challenges she faced as lieutenant kept her more than occupied.

The nights were different. The evenings on the living room floor with Noah were magic. He was babbling and uttering short words. He was cruising around the apartment, getting his curious hands into everything. She sounded like a broken record with how many times she had to say, "No Noah," and redirect his attention to a toy or book to keep him out of trouble.

She enjoyed bath time with him more than ever as he'd discovered splashing her was his new favorite pastime. She'd come to expect being nearly as wet as him when they emerged from the bathroom. He was everything she needed to counteract her days. Almost.

When he'd fall asleep at night, she'd listen to his rhythmic breathing until her mind drifted inevitably to that one night with Elliot. His scent, his tender words, his rough skin. She'd effortlessly gone two years without being touched by anyone. But now that _he'd_ touched her, she noticed the woman in her rising to the surface more frequently. But Elliot was no booty call - as he'd told her - and there were no other hands she wanted on her body. All she had were her own on those few occasions when it became too much and the thoughts of him wouldn't go quietly.

As Noah became more active and more curious she started taking him to a weekend playgroup for toddlers. She could barely tear him away at the end of each 90-minute session. He enjoyed it so much that she also enrolled him in a tots music class right afterwards where clapping and finger plays accompanied basic language enrichment. She was amazed at the speed by which he was absorbing the world around him.

Aside from joy she got from her young son, the days at SVU continued to be trying, especially when Rollins' manipulative sister came back to town and brought significant drama with her. It wasn't until Olivia did some soul searching and remembered her relentless dedication to her own longtime partner that she came to understand how Fin had covered for Rollins throughout the investigation.

Eventually Carisi and a very pregnant Rollins uncovered information in the Zachary Scott case - still open but progressing slowly - that gave the boy motive for making what turned out to be false abuse accusations. His mother had gone on a handful of dates with the substitute teacher the boy had finally pinpointed - before he tearfully admitted it hadn't happened at all.

The detectives gave the boy a firm talking to about the seriousness of his claims and the legal ramifications of making them. They had no intentions of charging him, but were obligated to make sure he wasn't sitting across from them again unless someone had really hurt him. Olivia spent the same amount of time tying up loose ends with his mother.

"Mrs. Scott, your son is very young and we don't want to bring charges against him because we want him to grow up knowing that the police are on his side," Olivia explained. "But there has to be some reason he went this far to make such serious claims against your boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend," the mother offered quickly. "And that's the problem."

Olivia listened intently as the woman rose from the conference room table and paced. "I only started seeing him a few weeks before this all happened with Zach. It wasn't serious, just a few dates," Mrs. Scott explained. "In fact I'd intentionally tried not to bring him into our home. We weren't at the point where I felt it was serious enough with him to bring Zach into it."

"So why do you think your son took such a dislike to him?" Olivia asked, using her hand to encourage Mrs. Scott to sit back down with her.

"It wasn't Tom's fault. He didn't even have a chance to build a friendship with Zach. He saw him at school from time to time but that's it," Mrs. Scott explained. "My son wanted John back in our lives. In Zach's mind, getting rid of Tom meant John would come back."

"John?"

"The man I was involved with before ... well before I went out with Tom."

Olivia continued to listen.

"John was a good man. He came into our lives not long after my husband left and he took to Zach right away," the mother explained through tears. "My son missed his father and clung to John. They were so close it scared me."

"How so?"

"Please don't get me wrong," Mrs. Scott began. "I'm not trying to say John would ever do anything to hurt Zachary. In fact, maybe he was too good to be true, and that's where I went wrong. I pushed him away."

"With all due respect, Mrs. Scott, I don't understand," Olivia asked. "Why would you ...?"

"We were so hurt when Zachary's father left. We were blindsided. There was no way I would let it happen again, let someone tear my son's heart out like that. So before he could hurt us ..."

"You pushed John away," Olivia added quietly.

"Yes," Mrs. Scott admitted. "He loved us. I know it makes no sense but ..."

Olivia reached across the table and laid her hand over that of Mrs. Scott. "It makes perfect sense. I get it," the lieutenant assured her. "I have a young son too, and as single moms, we have to be ... cautious."

"Cautious, yes," Mrs. Scott said, a slight smile of regret crossing her lips. "Stupid, no."

Olivia smiled back at her empathically. "Well you never know, right? Maybe it's not too late to make things right with John." Then she squeezed her hand.

They watched through the two-way mirror as Rollins and Carisi wrapped up their conversation with Zachary.

"Now you remember that if you ever _really_ need help, you can call us. In fact," Carisi said, reaching into his shirt pocket, "you can call me directly." He passed the boy his business card and laid a protective hand on his shoulder. "Got it?"

The boy smiled slightly at the lanky detective. "Got it."

Mrs. Scott thanked the sergeant for the sensitive treatment of her son, shook the hands of Carisi and Rollins, then took Zachary home. Olivia led them out of the squad, staring after them a long time as they left.

No matter how many cases she investigated, how many victims she comforted, they never failed to teach her something too.


	11. Chapter 11

Turns out that the Zachary Scott case wasn't a complete waste of time. Also turns out that there was still a lot of cop left inside Elliot Stabler. It didn't surprise him that Olivia hadn't given him the courtesy of calling herself to tell him about the outcome, but he did get the information by following up with Carisi. Although there had been no actual abuse, Elliot used the case as a forum by which to urge the New York City School Board to pilot a training program for counselors on how to deal with similar disclosures. It was a cause into which he could channel his emotions and his free time now that Olivia was occupying none of it.

The program was still in its infancy, but he'd been invited to speak before the school board tonight. He had no problem speaking passionately about creating a safe atmosphere for kids to discuss their problems and disclose abuse. Badge or no badge, he'd never quit fighting for kids. He felt good about the night, so he rewarded himself with a beer. He striped off his dress shirt and shoes and retired to the couch in his black dress pants and undershirt with a cold bottle of Blue Moon in his grasp. Things weren't looking good for the Mets, and he felt compelled to let them know by yelling at the TV. The sounds of him giving Daniel Murphy a piece of his mind echoed into the hallway. It's how Olivia knew he was home before she even had a chance to knock on his apartment door.

He didn't hear the first knock through his own yelling. But the second one got his attention. And with his team down two games to one in the series, he wasn't interested in hearing a neighbor bitch at him about the noise. He swung the door open ready for an argument. His approach didn't change much when he saw Olivia standing there instead.

He didn't open the door the whole way, and he seemed to guard the limited opening there was by bracing his arm across it. If she wanted to enter, she'd have to duck under his arm to do it. And by the look on his face, she had no intention of doing so unless she was invited. She didn't expect him to be happy to see her, but she also didn't expect the absolutely frigid reception. He just stood there staring at her, breaking his gaze only to bring his beer to his lips with the hand that wasn't holding the door.

She considered sincerity, then confrontation. In the end she settled on sarcasm. "Don't worry, I'm not here for sex."

He smiled smugly at her, then dropped his arm and stepped aside so she could enter.

She walked a few paces into the apartment before she heard him close the door behind her. He followed her into the living room, grabbed the remote and muted the baseball game. "Something I can do for you?"

She turned to him, wringing her own hands nervously in front of her. "I was … uh … hoping we could talk."

He smirked. "Oh you were, were ya? I'm kinda busy so …"

"Elliot, please," she said. "Just give me a few minutes and I'll leave you be."

He nodded and took a seat on his armchair, dangling his beer bottle between his open legs. "So again, what can I do for you?"

"Well first I'd like a beer."

He took another swig, eyeing her over the bottle, then set his beer on the coffee table and padded into the kitchen to grab two fresh bottles. As he made his way back, he noted that by the way she was removing her coat, she obviously assumed she could stay a while.

She stood to receive her beer from him. "So I hear you're doing good things with the school board," she said, extending a meager olive branch.

"Yeah, I guess you would have heard that … from _Carisi_."

Fair enough.

"They seem pretty receptive," he couldn't resist. "I guess they don't see me as a _threat_."

Maybe it was the beer, or maybe it was the Mets. No matter, he was downright salty tonight and she'd wandered into the eye of the storm.

"Yeah … about that," she attempted.

His ears perked up. He couldn't wait to hear what she had to say, and he had no intention of making it easy on her.

"I said some things that maybe I shouldn't have," she offered.

"I figure you wouldn't have said them if you weren't thinking them," he countered.

"I'm not sure _what_ I was thinking," she said softly. "Or maybe I was thinking too much."

He snickered some. "Yeah, wouldn't be the first time for that."

She could see his muscles flex beneath his white V-neck undershirt every time he lifted his arm to take another drink. The sleeve on right arm bunched up just enough so she could see his large Jesus tattoo peeking from beneath it. When they'd been together that night – that _one_ night weeks ago – she hadn't taken time to explore him, to touch him in all the places she'd wanted to over the years. She hoped that after she said her peace tonight, she'd get a chance to do that. To do it all the right way.

He waited while she studied him. He saw her looking, and he saw her squirming inside her own skin as she fought to utter every word. It was cruel of him, but she'd dismissed him so easily and now he was holding a grudge.

"Elliot you told me you were a work in progress," she began. "And while I've come a long way in the last couple of years, I still have a ways to go myself."

He took another swig then threw her a bone. "I imagine you do. You've been through a lot."

"I'm not trying to use those things as an excuse for my behavior," she continued. "But they do have something to do with why I calculate every …"

"I get it, Liv. You overthink," he said impatiently. "Now tell me why you're here."

He was digging in his heels, so she took a deep breath and pressed on.

"I ... we ... Noah and I ... _we_ miss you." She was fighting fire with fire, going right for his heart strings.

"I'm not gonna lie, Olivia," he said, motioning toward her with his beer bottle. "I miss you too. But you told me there was no place for me in your world."

She moved to the edge of the couch nearest to him, removed the beer bottle from his fingers and set it on the coffee table. He looked at her, making note of her increasing courage.

"Elliot," she said, placing a palm on his knee. His eyes dropped immediately to her hand then rose again to her eyes. "Like you said, sorry has to be enough. So I'm here to tell you I'm sorry."

He looked down at her hand on his knee again and breathed through a long silence. "Okay," he said.

"Okay?" she questioned.

"Yeah, okay. I accept your apology. I don't know what else you want me to say or what you're asking of me."

That was fair. There was more she needed to explain. She needed to be specific and thorough with him.

"How is he?" he asked. "Noah I mean."

She smiled at his inquiry. "He's doing really well, talking, doing so much."

Elliot smiled. He remembered the toddler years with his own children and could only imagine what Noah was into these days.

"And I'd like you to be part of that," she said.

He wasn't sure if he could visit Noah, see Olivia and leave it at that. Not after what they'd shared. Not after that night.

"Look, Liv, I'd like to see him, but I can't come and go and not .."

"And I'd like you to be part of _my_ life too," she said, smiling hopefully at him. "A big part of it."

When he said nothing, she left the couch and lowered to her knees in front of him. She pulled his face forward until their foreheads were touching then took both of his hands in hers. She closed her eyes tightly, almost as if she wished he could read her mind this way, that she could make him understand without saying it. But she knew when she decided to come here that it wouldn't be that easy.

"Elliot, I've never said this to anyone before. Never a man, not in this way," she told him, holding his face in her hands and tears falling from her eyes. "But I love you."

He pulled his forehead away from hers so he could see her face. "Please don't say it." Her heart dropped. "Don't say it unless you mean it."

She smiled through tears then. "I _do_ mean it, and I should have said it sooner." She thought back over the years, at their complicated, unrequited, twisted involvement. "I should have said it _a lot_ sooner."

"Does this mean you're not afraid of me anymore?" he asked softly, hopefully.

"I've never been afraid of you, Elliot. Never," she told him sincerely. "I've just always been afraid of what I feel _for_ you."

"And now you're not?" he asked.

She laughed a little. "Are you kidding?" she said. "I'm fucking terrified. But I'm more afraid of the alternative."

He stroked her cheeks and smiled at how her eyeliner was now mixing with her tears. He swiped at it and kissed her lips once, firmly, desperately. She saw his thumbs, which were stained with her blackened tears. She kissed the inside of his left hand then rose to her feet. "Can I use your bathroom?" she asked. "I'm a mess here."

He smiled at her. "Of course you can," he said, motioning toward the small hallway. "It's that way."

He was reluctant to let her hand go, so their fingers lingered until she had to pull from his grasp to continue down the hall. "Promise I'll be right back," she said softly.

When she disappeared down the hallway, he collapsed backwards into the chair and released the longest, slowest breath. He ran his hands over his face, wiping away the tears that had welled but that he'd managed to hold back. He glanced at the TV and saw the Mets had definitively blown Game 4. He found that he really didn't care that much anymore, grabbing the remote and clicking off the muted post-game show.

On her way to the bathroom, Olivia glanced briefly into the other rooms as she made her way down the hall. She identified what surely was Eli's room by the small basketball hoop attached to the top of the door. She'd intentionally come when she was sure the boy would be with his mother, so the room was otherwise dark. Next to it was small room that housed a computer station and a weight bench.

Directly across from the bathroom was a dimly-lit room with a queen-size bed at the middle. Her eyes were drawn immediately to the white dress shirt folded over the edge of the bed, surely where Elliot had discarded it when he'd returned from his meeting. She glanced behind her down the hall to make sure Elliot wasn't looking, then stepped into the room, lifted the shirt and drew it close to her nose, inhaling the subtle scent of him. Her eyes closed and her mouth curved into a small smile as she retreated across the hallway and into the bathroom. She was done talking. It was time to show him.

Elliot had let the armchair envelope him while he waited for her to return. His legs were open and relaxed, his head back and his hands resting limply on his thighs. A sense of relief had settled over him that she'd come here and told him everything he'd wanted to hear. The emotional release left him tired and the most relaxed he'd been in weeks. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, relishing the feeling.

"See, told ya I'd be right back," he heard her say from behind his closed eyes. He smiled, opening his eyes to see her standing before him in nothing but … was that really … his shirt. Only the two bottom buttons were fastened, the open neckline dipping low enough to beckon him. Her tears and smeared makeup were gone. Beyond the shirt and her body peeking from beneath it, he was most drawn to her expression. There was no confrontation or fear in her eyes. He saw a heady blend of love and lust.

"Jesus Liv," he uttered, sitting up and forward in the chair and reaching for her. She stepped closer to him, close enough that he could run his fingertips along the sides of her bare thighs. He expected to find her panties underneath, so as his hands made their way all the way to her hips and found nothing there, his fingers froze and his mouth feel open.

She put two fingers to his chin and closed his mouth for him. He swallowed hard and attempted to speak. "But you said …" he began.

She pressed her fingertips to his lips to quiet him because she knew what he was going to say. She _hadn't_ lied to him. She _hadn't_ come here for sex. But she _was_ very, very interested in making love.

"C'mon," she said, taking his hands from her hips and linking her fingers with his. "Let's go try out that bedroom."

 _–_ _Finis –_

 _ **I wouldn't leave you hanging. There is an epilogue. Please read Come Again for the details of what happened in the bedroom.**_


End file.
